


And the Veil Divides

by Dr_D_Fox



Series: And the Veil Divides [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cullen Fluff, Cullen Has Issues, Dread Wolf, Dreamers (Dragon Age), Eventual Smut, Fade Tongue, Fluff and Smut, Hate the Egg, Love the Egg, Lyrium Addiction, Lyrium Withdrawal, Mages and Templars, Multi, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Torture, Polyamory, Slow Burn, Some feels, UST, so much UST
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2018-10-22 02:07:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 24
Words: 113,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10687563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dr_D_Fox/pseuds/Dr_D_Fox
Summary: "Wren" Trevelyan is tired. Everything that could possibly go wrong in Thedas seems to be her fault- according the the Chantry, at least. The Breach, the destruction of the Conclave, and the Darkspawn behind it all... In this world of politics, murder, war, and magic, can she find enough space to simply be herself?





	1. Let Chaos be Undone

**Author's Note:**

> The legal bits:  
> I don’t own anything but my own ideas. You know the drill.  
> Warnings:  
> This story (eventually) contains the following adult themes: polyamory, nudity, foul language, adult themes, violence, sexual themes, slight non-consensual themes, past non-con, gore, abuse, character death (not main characters... mostly), and I’m sure a plethora of other things. If any of this offends you, this is really not the story for you (or the game, for that matter.) Please remember that Dragon Age games are equally as dark and contain the same themes (and worse).  
> Notes:  
> So, this is loosely following my third play through of Dragon Age: Inquisition. The first chapter is a bit bland, since it mostly just follows the initial happenings, which don’t leave a lot of room for extra dialogue and changes. They will get more interesting, I promise.  
> There are companion pieces to this that are from the views of some of the other characters, but those contain a lot of spoilers for both the game and this story, so be warned.  
> Also, this is my first time posting to AO3, so please bare with me while I figure out formatting.  
> With that, enjoy!

_Wake up…_

Smell was the first sense that Wren was aware of. Stale water, cold stone, _fear._ She startled, jerking awake as if pulling her head from under deep waters. The world around her swirled and refused to come into focus. Bright, hazel-green eyes fluttered open, and she looked to her right, as if expecting someone to have been there, talking to her in rushed whispers. But her eyes met only the bare steel tip of a sword. It took her a moment to figure out where she was. A stone and straw floor, the shift of armored guards, the nervous energy. For a brief second, she feared that she was coming out of her Harrowing again…

The snap of power and shock of pain from her left hand grabbed her attention, making her gasp and pull her had away, as if pulling it from a flame.

The door slammed open, and two female figures strode into her cell with anger and purpose radiating off of them. They circled her for a moment, studying her, before the one in armor leaned down and snarled in Wren’s ear, “Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now.” Her thick accent was distinctive, and fairly unfamiliar.

_‘Kill me? Are they Templars?’_

The woman stepped away, pacing a little, “The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead.”

Wren looked up, startled at the news. ‘ _Impossible! Curt, you can’t be!’_

“Except for you.” There was no mistaking the tone- this woman thought Wren was responsible, but the young mage was too stunned at the news to respond. She merely watched her captor in wide eyed panic until the woman grabbed her left hand briefly, “Explain _this_.”

Words finally came to Wren, struggling through the confusion, “I-I…can’t.” Her slight accent sounded thick with her fear.

“What do you mean you _can’t_?!”

“I don’t know what that is, or how it got there!” she shouted in panic.

The woman lunged at her, grabbing her robes roughly, “You’re lying!”

It was only then that the silent one stepped in, pushing the first away. “We need her, Cassandra.”

‘ _All those people… gone. Curt, Dinall… God’s above, the Divine!’_

The quiet woman approached her with a calmer demeanor, “Do you remember what happened? How this began?”

Wren struggled through her muddled mind. Images flickered in her mind, emotions, brief pieces of conversations. What did she remember? “I remember… running. These… _things_ chasing me. And then…” an image flashed before her, a vague form, a sense of safety, a desperate hope, “-a woman? She… reached out to me. But then…” That was all. It faded away, and only the cell remained.

The woman called Cassandra pushed her companion away now, “Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take her to the Rift.”

Wren looked up, completely lost to what that could mean, as Cassandra came forward with a small bit of rope. She undid the iron shackles and bound the mages hands in the rough fibers instead.  Desperate for information, Wren begged for anything, “What _did_ happen?”

Cassandra regarded her warily, helping her to her feet and leading her towards the door, “It… will be easier to _show_ you…”

The light blinded her for a moment as she followed her escort outside. The cold wind bit through the thin cloth of her tunic, and Wren was briefly thankful for the armor she wore over. It did not take her long to see what Cassandra meant. In the sky above Haven, where the Temple of Sacred Ashes once stood, was a tear in the very fabric of their reality. It swirled with green light and hummed with menacing intent.

Cassandra stood a little in front of her, staring at the tear with resignation, “We call it ‘The Breach.’ It’s a massive rift into the world of demons, that grows with each passing hour.”

Wren stared in wonder, _‘She means it is a tear into the Fade! Is that possible?_ ’

She turned to regard the captive, “It’s not the only such Rift, just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave.” Stepping closer, her face was serious and beseeching, “Unless we act, the Breach may grow until it swallows the world.”

Before Wren could ask anything else, a jolt of green lightening thundered down from the Breach, and at the same moment the strange mark on her hand seemed to answer with an electric pain of its own. The shock of it and the immense agony that followed dropped the mage to her knees. She screamed, and curled forward in some vague need to hide her hand from the Breach.

Cassandra dropped next to the mage, urgency giving her voice a pleading edge, “Each time the Breach expands, your Mark spreads… And it is _killing you._ ” She paused a moment, while Wren caught her breath, “It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn’t much time.”

Wren took a shaky breath, not even thinking as she spoke, “If it will close the Breach, I will do what I can.” She didn’t need this warrior to tell her the dangers to the world from anything that demons could come so easily through. Her life mattered little now, but the world did not deserve to perish from the beasts that would rip through the Veil.

Cassandra nodded her approval, and assisted her to her feet once again. They continued on, down the path that Wren knew led towards the Temple. They passed cabins filled with frantic noise, tents full of injured soldiers and civilians alike. Each person that spared them a glance would give a nod to Cassandra, and a vehement glare to the young mage.

Cassandra saw the looks, “They have decided your guilt. They need it. The people of Haven mourn our most Holy, Divine Justinia, Head of the Chantry. The Conclave was hers.” The followed the rough trail, the smell of burning and the distant screams of fighting drifted on the bitter wind. “It was a chance for _peace_ between mages and Templars. She brought their leaders together.” Her voice hitched, “Now they are dead.” They walked up the steps and through the first set of gates, guarded by weary uniforms. “We lash out, like the sky. But we must think beyond ourselves, as she did. Until the Breach is sealed.” The woman’s obvious passion kept Wren silent. A wash of guilt came over her, knowing that if her own kind had not rebelled, then this might not have happened. _‘You do not need to tell me what the Conclave meant. I was there. I wanted it to end in peace. We all did._ ’

The bridge before them was a wash of activity, but Wren had only a moment to take it in before Cassandra stopped her with a hand and turned around, her eyes searching the mage’s for a moment before pulling out a dagger, “There will be a trial. I can promise no more.” She cut the rope bonds, and stepped back. “Come, it is not far.”

Wren was surprised by her actions, but even more surprised that this woman was giving her a modicum of trust. She couldn’t help but ask, though, “Where are you taking me?”

“Your Mark must be tested on something _smaller_ than the Breach.” Called Cassandra over her well armored shoulder.

‘ _That does not tell me anything,_ ’ Wren thought, but followed none the less. The bridge held mostly soldiers, though a few Chantry sisters stood with them, preaching to the lost souls or praying with them. The mage passed a row of bodies, all covered in cloth and ready for burial. The smell was subdued in the cold of the mountain pass, but she could still see blood and other fluids leaking onto the bridge. _‘What happened to these people?’_

At Cassandra’s order, the second gates were opened, and Wren was led into the valley and further up the path. A strange and disorienting sense of déjà vu washed over her, ‘ _How long ago was it, that I walked hand in hand with Curt, hope in our hearts, ready to assist our leaders in the peace talks to follow?_ ’

The way was littered with barricades and soldiers. Some were gripping their swords tightly, blood dripping from recent wounds. Others were edgy, stunned, pale, and unmarked by anything yet but fear. As they ran up the path, balls of Fade energy rained down around them, knocking soldiers aside, crumbling barricades, burning through the forest. Another bolt of green from the Breach, and another staggering blast of pain from the Mark on her hand sent Wren to the ground. Cassandra was quick to help her up, steadying her with hands on her shoulders, “The pulses are coming faster now.” She turned at trotted onward, keeping up an explanation, “The larger the Breach grows, the more Rifts appear, the more we must make haste.”

The mage mulled it over a moment, before her curiosity got the better of her, “How _did_ I survive the blast?”

Cassandra glanced back at her, before continuing on, “They say you leapt _out_ of a Rift, and then fell unconscious. They say a woman was in the Rift behind you.” She paused ominously, “No one knew who she was.”

There was another gate, and another bridge, though this was clear of most debris. A group of soldiers ran ahead of them, and just as they reached the gate beyond, a ball of energy slammed into the stone, shattering the bridge and sending Wren, Cassandra, and the now surely dead soldiers, tumbling onto the frozen river below. Wren pushed herself up a little, just as another flaming ball came screaming down to the ice in front of them. From the boiling wreckage appeared a demon, snarling and screaming as it rushed them.

“Stay behind me!” Cassandra shouted, stumbling to her feet and pulling out her sword as she charged the abomination. Wren staggered to her own feet and just before her bubbled more of that Fade energy, whispers and vicious hissing spewing forth. Desperate to protect herself, she cast about for a useable weapon. Swords, bows, and daggers abound, and she was about to reach for one in desperation, when the familiar sight of a Chantry Staff caught her attention. She snatched it from its crate and sprang into the familiar action of battle- searing the emerging demon with fire and lighting, and sparing a moment to cast a protective barrier over Cassandra.

The demons were weaker outside of the Fade, and were quickly dispatched. Wren looked around, trying to ensure that no other creatures were coming. She relaxed slightly when she saw that they were alone, “It’s over.”

With no warning, Cassandra stormed her, sword still drawn and dripping demonic ichor, “Drop your weapon! _Now!_ ”

Adrenaline still pumping and indignation flaring, Wren snarled back, “Do you really think I need a _staff_ to be dangerous?” These people were terrified of her magic one moment, and completely incompetent about its uses the next! A staff is but a focus, a way to channel the power a mage wields.

Breathing heavily, Cassandra took a menacing step forward, “Is that supposed to _reassure_ me?”

“I haven’t used my magic on you yet.”

The glared at each other, both poised for action, waiting for the other to make a move.

Sighing, Cassandra was the first to give, slowly sheathing her sword. “You’re right.” She straightened, and shook her head, “You don’t need a staff, but you should have one. I cannot protect you.” The warrior turned to continue up the path, Wren cautiously following. Almost as an afterthought, Cassandra paused to address the mage, “I should remember that you came willingly…”

The path became less obvious as the debris from the explosion had brought down much of the mountain peaks. They struggled through another encounter with demons and vicious spirits, working together to dispatch their enemies. With every defeated enemy, Cassandra seemed to relax more around her, shouting advice about the techniques each enemy used, or tactics they should use.

Bodies littered the way, both from the explosion, and from the fighting still raging along the path. Wren could feel each pulse of power from the Breach, though it was easier now to block some of the pain.

The long stairs, referred to as The Steps to Truth by their chantry guides before the Conclave, let her know how close they were now. She could hear the clash of battle and the cries of the wounded, clearer now that they were so close. Cassandra seemed to gain another surge of energy at the sound, running ahead with her sword drawn, “We must help them!”

Ahead, through what once was a welcoming garden, was a small group of fighters. Without hesitation, Cassandra leaped into the fray against the demons. Wren paused a moment to gape at the strange, rippling _thing_ that hovered above them. The demons seemed drawn to it and she could feel the ribbons of power that connected it to them. _‘This must be a Rift!’_

The last demon was dispatched, and one of the fighters grabbed her hand, dragging her towards the growling Rift, “Quickly, before more come through!” He yanked her arm up, pointing the Mark at the Rift. She could feel his magic call to hers, urging her to focus her Will through it. It came on instinct, rushing like a gale through her body and out of the Mark. A blast of power and a rippling cord of energy shot from her hand and into the Rift. The feedback of magic was intense, but she grit her teeth and pushed through, forcing her Will to overpower the magic of the Fade. With a sucking sound and a blinding snap of light, the Rift shut, and the energy faded away.

She turned to the mage beside her, a look of confusion marring her features while she cradled her bruised wrist and pulsing hand, “What did you do?”

The man waved away the question, “ _I_ did nothing. The credit is yours.”

She glanced down at her hand, feeling the magic recede and the light from the mark fade a little, “I closed that? How?”

The other mage was ready with his answer, “Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky, also placed that Mark upon your hand.” His voice was calm, the tone that of a professor teaching a student, “I theorized the Mark might be able to close the Rifts that have opened in the Breach’s Wake- and it seems I was correct.” He sounded pleased with himself.

Cassandra joined the conversation, hope palpable around her, “You mean it _could_ also close the Breach itself.” It sounded like this was a conversation they had already been through.

The man nodded, “Possibly.” His attention returned to Wren, “It seems you hold the key to our salvation.” There was an air of confidence about him that gave weight to his words. It was only then that Wren noticed his ears and lithe form, _‘An elf?_ ’ She could feel power humming from him, practically crackling around his hands. ‘ _I don’t remember him from the gathering before… the Conclave.’_

“Good to know.” A different voice dragged her attention away from the elven mage, “I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever.” The sarcasm was evident enough in his voice, and Wren was a little surprised to see a Dwarf standing there, adjusting his gloves. Satisfied, he turned and addressed her, “Varric Tethras: Rogue, Storyteller, and occasionally, unwelcome tagalong.” The last comment was addressed to Cassandra with a smirk and a wink. By the snarl on Cassandra’s face, she knew the man.

Unsure of what else to say, Wren cast about for something, “That… is a nice crossbow you have there.” It wasn’t too far off the mark- the crossbow was unique, and the rogue had wielded it in battle with serious expertise. Varric smiled, “Ah, isn’t she? Bianca and I have been through a lot together.” He gave the weapon an adoring smile, like you would a lover.

Wren couldn’t help but laugh a little, “You named your crossbow _Bianca_?”

He winked back at her, “Of course! And she’ll be great company in the valley.”

Cassandra stepped between them, hand gesturing sharply, “Absolutely not! Your help is appreciated Varric, but-“

He interrupted her, “Have you been in the valley lately, Seeker?” Wren looked startled, ‘ _Cassandra is a Seeker?’_ “Your soldiers aren’t in control anymore. You _need_ me.”

The two stared at each other a moment longer, Varric with steady confidence and Cassandra with warring emotions. Finally, with a disgusted sigh, she turned her back. The dwarf smiled, triumphant.

Stepping closer to her again, the elf lifted his hand to his chest, “My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions.” He gave her a smile that didn’t seem to reach his eyes. “ I am pleased to see you live.”

Varric shook his head, “He means, ‘I kept that Mark from killing you while you slept.’”

Wren turned back to Solas with a new view of the elf. “You must know a great deal about it, to keep it from killing me.” Solas’ lip twitched, and he seemed to approve.

“Unlike you,” Cassandra put in, “Solas is an apostate.”

Before Wren could correct her, the elf responded, “Technically, _all_ mages are apostate now, Cassandra.” He returned his attention to Wren, taking on the teaching tone again, “My travels have allowed me to learn much of the Fade, far beyond the experience of any _Circle Mage._ ” There was almost a condescending tone to that, and Wren got the impression that he did not approve of the Circle. A true apostate, then.  “I came to offer whatever help I can give with the Breach. If it is not closed, we are _all_ doomed, regardless of origin.”

Wren was impressed a little, since most apostates she had met during the rebellion were more selfish in their views, “That’s a commendable attitude.”

He shrugged, “Merely the sensible one. Although sense appears to be in short supply right now.” Wren wasn’t sure who that was a jab at, but she felt that it was not actually directed at her. The elf turned to address the Seeker, “Cassandra, you should know: the magic involved here is unlike any I have seen. Your prisoner is a mage,” he gave a small nod to Wren, “but I find it difficult to imagine _any_ mage having such power.”

Cassandra nodded, “Understood.” and turned to lead the party further along, “We must get to the forward camp quickly.”

Solas followed behind her, and Varric strolled forward as well, shrugging a bit, “Well… Bianca’s excited!” Wren quirked an eyebrow at him, before trailing behind them. The struggled over the shattered stone and tumbled out buildings. They had to go around the main road, making the path more treacherous. Demons and shades stalked any stragglers, and the group was quick to dispatch them. Wren felt the power from the Breach grow as she got closer, and she cast a wary glance up at the tear in the sky, worrying about what would happen when she finally came to it.

A scream of pain from the top of the stairs they were climbing spurred them into action once again. The sight that greeted them was a grim one- soldiers attempting to guard a gate, assaulted by demons and yet another Rift. Wren wasted no time, chaining lightning between the Shades to get their attention away from the doomed soldiers. It worked, and she found herself dancing away from the claws of the demons, blasting them with her power and moving closer to the Rift. She could see the ribbons of power now, and new that not only did the demons get their power through the Rift, but that the Rift was kept open by their presence. She didn’t try to close it until the last demon was banished, and immediately lifted her hand, as Solas had done, watching her Will form a cord of power that closed the unsightly tear.

As soon as the Rift was closed, Cassandra hurried forward and gave the order to open the gate. The soldiers outside of it were relieved, returning to their stations behind the barricades and pulling their wounded through the gate.

Solas gave a nod to Wren, “We are clear for the moment. Well done.” She preened a little, despite herself, at the praise from the, so far, rather stoic elf, as elves did not give praise lightly.

The bridge between the gates was, once again, full of people. This time there were more soldiers and fewer Chantry folk. The mood here was somber, the soldiers more battle weary- veterans, then.  As she followed Cassandra’s purposeful walk, an argument ahead gained her attention. The woman that had accompanied Cassandra earlier, Leliana, was being shouted at by an old Chantry man, both scowling fiercely at the other.

“Enough! I will not have it!” He snarled, turning to look at the papers strewn across the table placed before the command tent. He looked up, spying the party and smiling in a predatory way, “Ah. Here they come.”

The red-haired woman pushed passed him, addressing Cassandra with obvious relief, “You made it! Chancellor Roderick, this is-“

“-I _know_ who she is.” He hissed, moving closer standing up straighter as he addressed the Seeker, “As Grand Chancellor of the Chantry, I hereby order you to take this _criminal_ to Val Royeaux to face execution.” He jabbed an angry finger toward Wren, though he seemed unwilling to look directly at her.

Cassandra visibly bristled at his presumptive attitude, “Order me? You are a glorified clerk! A bureaucrat!” she spat, standing almost protectively in front of the young mage.

The Chancellor did not back down, sneering at the warrior, “And you are a Thug! But a thug that supposedly serves the Chantry!”

Leliana cut him off, “We serve the Most Holy, Chancellor, as you well know.”

The chancellor threw up his arms, hands gesturing her to stop, “Justinia is dead! We must elect a replacement and obey _Her_ orders on the matter!”

Wren snarled under her breath, sick of the game this man was trying to bait the women into, “Don’t _talk_ about me like I’m not even here!”

His wrath turned to her, obvious disgust written on his face, “ _YOU_ shouldn’t even _be_ here!”

He returned his attention to Cassandra, and Wren had to close her eyes and practice her breathing exercise just to keep from leaping over the table and throttling the man herself. She admired Cassandra’s ability to stay fairly calm, and prayed to whatever gods were listening that the man would shut up soon.

When the argument turned to tactics, Cassandra caught her off guard by turning to Wren and asking for her thoughts on what actions they should take. She looked over at the Chancellor, glaring a little, “We should charge with the soldiers. I won’t live long enough for your _trial_ anyways.” Not that she really cared that much. What was left to live for? With the Divine dead, the Conclave destroyed, and a magic hole in the sky- everyone would be blaming the mages, apostates all, and her life would be hell. And with everyone she knew and cared about dead… What would her own life be worth anymore? Close the Breach, save the world, and don’t be around to deal with the fallout. Seemed like a sound plan.

As the group departed, heading for the next gate, the Chancellor took his parting shot, “On your head be the consequences, _Seeker._ ”

Wren found herself growling under her breath, ‘ _Curt, if you are listening from the Fade, tell your Dread Wolf to take that man._ ’

*

Commander Cullen simply _bled_ Templar. Wren could almost hear the lyrium singing through his veins. He was handsome, in that rough sort of way, but the mere idea of working near a Templar was enough to set Wren on edge. It was difficult to keep the sneer from her face, but the Breach called, and this man was in charge of the soldiers who would keep her safe enough to close it. She watched him warily as he ordered some of his soldiers forward with them, before helping one of his injured back the way they came.

They entered the Temple of Sacred Ashes, greeting by the gagging smell of charring flesh and hot brimstone. The devastation was incomprehensible, but the warped burning bodies… She could almost hear their screams, like an echo imprinted on the fabric of the world. She wondered, in morbid curiosity, if any of the twisted forms were her friends…

They came around the corner, and got their first view of the Breach itself. It was twisted and moving, restless and searching for more magic. There was a Rift below it, snapping and thundering with power- larger than any she had yet seen. She could feel the tendrils as they passed over, sparking the Mark upon her hand. ‘ _Gods above… The Breach. It is enormous._ ’ The power was oppressive. She didn’t need lyrium to feel the Fade and how close it was to the surface of the world. Cassandra turned to her, “  
This is your chance to end this. Are you ready?”

Wren nodded, wrenching her eyes from the monstrosity that crackled in the sky, “I’ll try, but I don’t know if I can reach that, much less close it.”

“No,” Solas interrupted, “This _Rift_ was the first, and it is the key.” His eyes burned into hers, “Seal it, and perhaps we seal the Breach.” Wren nodded, taking what little hope he was offering her.

A woman of action, Cassandra turned and searched around them, “Then let’s find a way down.”

*

When they reached the center of the Temple, and were close enough to the Rift that Wren would be able to channel her power through it, Cassandra gave a nod and Wren flung up her hand, _opening_ the Rift instead of closing it. The ground shook and thunder deafened them. Energy burst forth and coalesced into a dreadful shape that Wren recognized from her Harrowing. ‘ _A Pride Demon!’_ Cassandra signaled, and the archers above fired arrows at the beast, though it seemed to have little effect.

The battle began in earnest, and it was immediately evident that this was a more powerful enemy that they had yet faced. Desperately, Cassandra called out to the group, “We must strip its defenses! Wear it down!”

Wren dodged a ball of lighting energy, rolling towards the Rift. She looked up at it, her mind whirling, ‘ _If I disrupt the Rift, I might disrupt the ribbon of power to the Demon.´_ Throwing caution to the wind, she pushed her hand through the twisted energies, and forced her Will upon the Rift, seeking to interrupt the flow of power between it and Pride. It worked, and as the disruption sent a shockwave out, the demon was stunned by the sudden loss of power. Everyone took immediate advantage of its disorientation and weakness.

Lesser demons poured from the Rift as it reformed, trying to defend their gateway into the physical realm. Wren ignored them, allowing the archers to pick them off while she worked on the demon. She found herself next to Solas, the two of them fighting in tandem to disrupt the demon’s abilities and tear down its defenses. Despite the situation, she had to admire the ease with each he wielded magic. She found herself mimicking his movements and choice in spells, trusting his expertise in all things Fade to know how best to strike Pride.

Finally, the beast fell, and the ribbons to the world were severed.  Cassandra’s voice reached Wren across the cacophonous echoes of power from the Breach, “Now! Seal the Rift!”

Wren dropped the staff, and turned back to the tear, calling upon every ounce of energy and Will left to her. The power twisted in her, struggling against her and ripping at her very core.

But she gained hold of it, and with a final push and cry of triumph, her Will overcame, and the Rift snapped close with a deafening boom.

Wren had only a moment to celebrate, before her body trembled, and she fell.

 


	2. Their Salvation, and Mine

Darkness.

 

Pain.

 

Silence.

 

Whispers.

 

_Wake up!_

 

*

The world came back in phases. Sound first. The whiny of a distant horse. The murmur of a bustling camp. And closer, the soft flutter of a candle.

Then smell and touch. Fresh straw. Clean linen. Melted wax. The astringency of healing herbs. A soft surface beneath her, and silky sheets draped over her.

Her eyes opened with a start, and she looked around herself in a panic. There was wood paneling around her, furs hung on the walls, shelves and tables covered in supplies. A candle flickered next to the bed she was laid out on, and a wall sconce illuminated the rest of the small cabin.

‘ _What… where am I?’_

A startled squeak caught her attention, just as the person who made it dropped her crate. “Oh! I didn’t know you were awake, I swear!”

Wren sat up, ignoring the brief whirl of the room and the roar of blood in her ears. The sheets slid off of her torso, and she realized that she was only clothed in a breastband and smallcloths. Wren swallowed passed the dryness of her mouth, and tried to sound calm, even as she watched the terrified elf girl back away slowly, “What happened? Where am I?”

The girl didn’t even answer, just dropped to her knees and bowed low, head brushing the carpet, “I beg your forgiveness, and your blessing. I am but a humble servant.”  ‘ _City elf, with that accent and the scraping._ ’ Wren swung her legs off the bed, trying to take a better assessment of her surroundings while the girl spoke, “You are back at Haven, my Lady. They say you saved us! The Breach stopped growing, just like the Mark on your hand.”

The mage looked at her hand, only a faint glow shimmering from it now, ‘ _Stopped growing, but not closed completely._ ’ She knew even that should be momentous, but she could not help but feel disappointed.

“It’s all _anyone_ has talked about for the last three days!”

Wren looked up in shock, “Three days?! Maker’s saggy-.. what day is it?” she demanded.

The girl struggled to her feet, backing up again and wringing her hands, “I’m certain Lady Cassandra would want to know you’ve wakened. She said, ‘At once.’”

Watching the girl flee for the door, Wren hoped to get at least a little more information, “And where is she?”

“In the Chantry. With the Lord Chancellor. “At once!” she said!” the girl dashed out the door like a frightened nug, leaving the mage to ponder her behavior. ‘ _Strange girl.’_

The mage stood on shaky legs, feeling the exhaustion that ran deep in her bones. ‘ _I must have drained my mana. Stupid. Tristan would lecture me._ ’ She wobbled a little, before using the barrels and tables to work her way over to the table by the window. There were physician notes, obviously about her, and apparently worried that she would not make it. She must have drained herself further than she thought! The note mentioned ‘the mage,’ and she knew it could only refer to Solas. It was a comfort, knowing that a fellow mage had watched over her, even if it was likely for the Mark on her hand. Still, it gave her a small feeling of belonging, as if her Circle wasn’t dead on the mountain.

She spotted clothing in an open chest nearby, and guessed it was meant for her, since it was very feminine and in her size. The pounding of an incoming headache made it difficult to dress herself in the warm outfit, and she contemplated simply returning to bed to sleep it off, until she spotted a familiar leaf sticking out of the broken crate the elf had dropped. _‘Elfroot!_ _Thank the Maker._ ’ One hand clutching her head, she shuffled over and snatched up the plant, stuffing a few leaves into her mouth unceremoniously. The bittersweet taste coated her tongue, and almost immediately, the pain abated. She moaned in pleasure, swallowing the leaves whole. ‘ _Thank you Tristan, for the herb lore!’_

Once satisfied that she had the energy to leave, she clenched her jaw and placed her hand on the door. What would await her outside of this little haven within Haven? The trial Cassandra had been promised? Or since the Chancellor was there, perhaps they would jump straight to execution. Well, at least it was a pleasant enough day, and she wouldn’t die with a headache.

Taking a deep breath, she threw open the door and stepped into the early morning light.

A Templar was the first sight to greet her, and she almost lost the nerve to move forward, until his fist came up and clanged on the armor over his heart in salute. ‘ _What in creation…?’_ Nervously, she sidled around him, keeping her eyes on him until she was passed, convinced that at any moment, he would reach out and snatch her up. But he never moved. She stumbled a bit down the stairs and scurried forward, easily remembering the winding way to the Chantry. Every person she passed put hand to heart or bowed before her. Whispers that made no sense, followed her path, and she found that people were following slowly at a distance, unwilling to look away from the object of their, apparently, gratitude.

All the bowing and scraping was… disconcerting. The soldiers parted like water before a keel, fists to hearts, eyes full of praise and wonder.

‘ _I did nothing!_ ’ she wanted to scream.

The Chantry loomed ahead of her, and she paused for a moment to stare at the ornate doors. She was never comfortable in the Chantry, not even before her power manifested. Standing before the doors while soldiers and clerics looked on was even less comfortable.

With a steadying breath, she pushed the doors open and strode inside.

The voice of, the now deceased, Curt, rang through her head. “ _Confidence, lethalin, will stay any attack- at least long enough for you to flee.”_

Voices, barely muffled by the thin wood door at the end of the Chantry, gave her pause.

“Have you gone completely mad?!” Ah, that would be the Chancellor. “She should be taken to Val Royeaux _immediately_ to be tried by… whomever becomes Divine.”

She gave a snort of grim laughter, _‘Well, at least he isn’t suggesting immediate execution anymore._ ’

The Seeker’s voice chimed in, “I do not believe she is guilty.” Cassandra was standing up for her? An interesting change, though she supposed not so surprising.

Wren could almost hear the indignation that must be flushing the Chancellors face, “The prisoner _failed_ , Seeker. The Breach is still in the Sky. For all you know, she intended it this way!” Wren’s heart dropped, her eyes looking to the Mark again, _‘It was not for a lack of trying, Chancellor. I am just not powerful enough to close that monstrosity._ ’

Cassandra was shouting now, “I cannot believe that!”

There was silence for a moment, before the chancellor hissed softly, “That is not for you to decide.”

Wren had heard enough. She threw open the doors and entered the room with her pride practically tangible.

The chancellor looked up and immediately signaled the guards at the door, “Chain her! I want her prepared for travel to the capital for trail.”

Cassandra stood up straight from where she had been studying a map, “Disregard that, and leave us.” The soldiers placed fist to heart and turned, leaving the room noisily.

Wren watched the play of emotions dance across the chancellor’s face. _‘Oh. This is going to be interesting…_ ’

***

With the formation of the Inquisition decided, work began immediately. Cassandra went to gather her soldiers and supplies, and to find out where Commander Cullen was. Leliana hurried off to send ravens to her ‘people,’ whatever that meant. Wren was left with her head reeling and a large tome to read at both the Seeker’s and Leliana’s insistence. It was the writ, a description of the function and abilities of the Inquisition, given to them by the Divine herself. It was both fascinating and worrying. The Inquisition had no ruling authority other than itself. It had no direct power, but no restrictions either. That left a lot of room for- well- anything.

Wren studied the book well into the night, finally retiring to the cabin she had woken in- reading the same paragraph four times was not going to get her sleep addled mind to comprehend it any faster. The physician that had apparently been tending her came into the cabin shortly after she did, insisting that he give her an examination, which was annoying, and left her with a sleeping draught, which was much appreciated. The images from the Temple were still burned into her mind, and she had not looked forward to the nightmares that would be lurking for her in the Fade. He looked her over, applied some salve to some still healing bruises and abrasions, and declared her fit enough for duty.

Once she was alone, she stripped down to her smallclothes again, and lay in bed, listening to the ever-awake camp around her, and thinking of the events she had survived. The Conclave. The Breach. The closing of the Rift. Now, with the people thinking she was some sort of holy person- sent by the Maker?!- and the formation of the Inquisition, there was so much to take in, so much to put together! Her mind only began to slow down when the medicine started kicking in, pulling her down into a dreamless sleep. Her last thoughts were a hopeful prayer, set adrift in the edges of the Fade.

‘ _Gods of Old… Let me fix this._ ’

*

Morning found Wren oddly rested and… hungry! Maker, when was the last time she had eaten more than a bit of field ration? Five days? Six? She sat up in bed with every intention of running to the tavern in her smallclothes (she was fast, and in all the snow, surely no one would notice), when she spotted the cooling plate of heavy Ferelden food by the window. Tucked under the plate was a note, labeled by Wren’s formal name, ‘ _Oh Maker… they know who I am now..._ ’.

Sitting down in the wobbly chair, Wren started in on her food with one hand, and held the note with the other.

                ‘Lady Laraina Trevelyan, ( _Oh, how I hate that name!_ she grumbled)

                We would appreciate your presence in the War Room of the Chantry, once you are ready. Your clothing and some supplies can be found in the chest in your room, and the requisitions officer has been told to supply you with a suitable staff, until once can be crafted for you.

                                Seeker Cassandra’

 

Wren sighed, running her hands through her morning mussed hair in frustration. ‘ _I suppose this means they will contact my parents, for what little good it will do them._ ’ The rest of her meal was left behind, her appetite gone along with the restful feeling in which she’d awoken. Deciding that delay was pointless, the mage opened the chest beside the desk, and sure enough, there were her clothes that she had worn at the Conclave. A winter cloak lined with soft nug fur, leather breeches with pockets along the legs, elven style boots that Curt had commissioned for her, and a complex looking overshirt that combined utility with protection. She searched the pockets of both breeches and tunic, but found little of use left in them. The herbs were long dead or crumpled, the tiny vials of potion must have been removed or had been crushed and thus cleaned, and of her personal effects, only a small pocket of coin remained. The mage sighed, pulling on the clothes (and noting that they had been washed and mended) with some trepidation. On her way out, she spotted a mirror propped against a corner wall, and paused to examine herself in it.

Her dark red hair, always kept short in the Chantry to make detecting lice easier, brushed the tops of her shoulders now in short, springy curls. Her normally golden skin was a bit pale, she suspected from the long bedrest and the extreme stress so recently experienced. The smattering of freckles across her face stood out starkly, where normally they were barely visible. There was a new scar forming, a jagged bolt down her _left_ cheek, thank the Maker. At least it did not mar the inkwork Curt had spent so much time with on the right. The design, he said, was a combination of old Ferelden and ancient Vallaslin designs. The pale blue ink partially surrounded one eye in a twisting design meant to represent someone who had seen the Fade. The swirls and spots that tapered off of it and ran down her cheek were to show her grounding to this world, and thus her overcoming of demons. She brushed her fingers along the intricate lines, oddly numb to the knowledge that the maker of this beautiful work… was a twisted, burning corpse atop a Maker cursed mountain.

She feared that today was going to be very long indeed.

*

Herald of Andreste? What in the name of the Maker’s children had gotten into these people?

Unwilling to delay too long, Wren had gone to find the requisitions officer and get a new staff. There hadn’t been much in terms of choices, but a simple staff meant to direct healing spells was suitable for now. She disliked the Chantry heraldry carved into it, but supposed there would be little other option.

On her way to the Chantry itself (which now sported old looking banners and a long scroll explaining the Inquisitions reformation), Cassandra had caught up with her and they spoke briefly, though amiably, about the Mark. Wren was trying very hard to ignore it, but the Seeker was pleased to hear that at least it did not pain her anymore.

The two walked into the War Room, where Leliana, Commander Cullen, and an Orlesian woman were waiting for them. While appropriate introductions were being made (and by the Old God’s, once she found out who determined her origins she would make them regret their discovery), Wren took the time to properly examine her new companions.

Commander Cullen was much more at ease now that he wasn’t on an active battlefield, and even gave her a small smile when they were properly introduced. She felt the sudden need to reassess her hasty opinion of him. A Templar, yes, though he seemed less wary of her than before and even a bit friendlier, as much as a Templar could be to a mage- chuckling softly at the little quips the group made. A surprisingly… pleasing… sound.

Josephine was so obviously a politician that Wren’s first reaction was to take a step back, as if political intrigue was contagious. However, the woman was polite, pleasant even, and seemed a little more open than the few courtesans Wren had the displeasure of knowing.

Leliana was _less_ relaxed than she had been on the battlefield, a faint frown on her face for most of the conversations. When outed as the spymaster, the woman took it in stride, though Wren was both unsurprised and a little worried. This was a woman she would have to be wary around.

The news that the Chantry had already condemned both the Inquisition, and Wren in particular was a little surprising. Hearing the reasoning, even more so. She felt no different, and was even unsure about her own belief in the Chantry’s ramblings, despite having grown up surrounded by it. The advantage of the Circle was the diversity present within the mages. Curt was Dalish, kicked from his clan when his magic showed a little later in life than normal, and neither the Second nor Third to the Keeper were willing to step down. Dinall was Tevinter, though his family had fled to Ferelden a generation or two before. Tristan had claimed to be human, but when push came to shove, he admitted to not being ‘pureblood,’ as he called it. Wren herself was technically distant noble, though her family was so far out in the Marches that few nobles from anywhere of importance visited them. And her own blood, well…

Finally, the meeting seemed to be winding down. Leliana suggested they accept the offer from the chantry Mother at the Crossroads, and Wren was quick to accept- keen to go where some few of her friends had stayed behind. Commander Cullen gave her a strange look at her eagerness, but said nothing to dissuade anyone.

And so, scouts were sent ahead once they had finished their ‘meeting.’ Wren suspected that they were Leliana’s people, and likely already in that area at her order. The Spymaster didn’t seem the type to allow an opportunity to pass, if it meant waiting for approval to act.

In the meantime, Wren was given leave to stock up on any supplies she would need, and rest, to gain back her strength.

When they received a swift return raven, Cassandra and, surprisingly, Solas, came to fetch the young mage from her cabin. Varric followed them in shortly after, much to Cassandra’s obvious dismay.

The Seeker nodded approvingly at the light pack her charge was finishing, “It is time to go, Herald.”

Wren sighed dramatically, hoisting the pack onto her shoulders and slipping her borrowed staff through the loops at the top, “ _Please_ don’t call me that.”

Varric laughed a little, leading the way out of the cabin and down the road towards the Hinterlands, “And what would you have us call you? Sparkles seems rather impersonal.” He indicated her shimmering hand, where the Mark gave a faint pulsing glow.

The mage laughed a little, “Wren. Please- just call me Wren.”

The Seeker seemed to dislike something so informal, but Varric took to it immediately. Solas regarded her oddly, before giving an acknowledging dip of his head. ‘ _When_ doesn’t _he give me a strange look?’_ she wondered, letting Cassandra take point on the road.

The half day’s journey down the mountains and into the Hinterlands was filled with Varric’s tales of Kirkwall, and Cassandra’s pleas for his silence anytime he hinted at their shared past. It made Wren even more curious, and even the enigmatic elf made a few probing remarks whenever it seemed the Seeker’s requests would finally silence the dwarf.

Wren was amused to discover that the rogue was not just a storyteller, but an actual _author_. Before the rebellion started, she’d had little chance to read fiction books (as the Chantry viewed them as a frivolous distraction), and after the rebellion started there had been no time. She playfully demanded that he obtain a copy of one of his books for her to read. He laughed heartily and asked her what she would prefer: a murder-mystery, or a bit of smutty fluff. Cassandra, rapidly changed the subject by telling them that they were close to the first garrison, and that she would scout ahead to let the oupost know that they were coming.

The three companions left behind looked at each other in confusion, and shrugged it off as some strange quirk of the Seeker.

“Maybe she’s not a fan of books.” Varric quipped.

“Or perhaps,” Solas intoned, the barest hint of a smirk on his lips, “She is merely not a fan of _your_ books.”

Varric laughingly brushed it off, but Wren glanced at the elf in surprise. ‘ _He’s funny. Who would have imagined there was a sense of humor in there._ ’

*

The Hinterlands were familiar to the mage. Her little apostate clan had rested here for a few months before the Conclave. While not overtly friendly, the locals had a live and let live attitude towards the mages, and as long as everyone played by that, there had been peace. To hear from Scout Harding that this was no longer the case… Templars and mages in an all-out war, all because of what happened at the Temple…. And the people caught in between.

‘ _Tristan, please still be alive. You are my last, and I could not stand the thought of losing you as well._ ’ She looked up at the sky, beseeching the Gods and the Maker to hear her.

After taking assessment of the camp, and learning how the Inquisition scouts set it up, Wren spent only a brief moment looking at the provided map of the area. She wasn’t sure yet how much she wanted to divulge to the party, so she simply nodded along as they discussed the best path to take down to Crossroads and Mother Giselle.

It didn’t take long for them to run into trouble. The first hostile group they encountered were Templars. The warriors took one look at the two mages in the party, and charged ahead, weapons drawn and intent on killing the perceived threat.

“Hold!” Cassandra shouted, arms out in supplication, “We are not apostates!” But the men pressed forward with cries of rage. Wren and Solas dispatched them quickly, even as Varric tried to comfort the frustrated Seeker.

When a fellow mage, saved by the party from an attacking Templar, turned on his saviors next, it was Wren’s turn to cry out in fear. Solas shouted from just behind her, “We are not Templars. We mean you no harm!” just as Wren screamed, “Brother, wait! I would help you!”

A ball of fire came wailing towards her, but she was frozen in disbelief. Only when a wall of ice leaped up, protecting Wren, did she revive, looking around in confusion. Solas’ fingers briefly touched her shoulder in sympathy, “They are crazed with anger, Herald, and beyond reason.” He watched her for a moment, as if ensuring that she understood what he said, before giving her a gentle nudge forward.

*

Mother Giselle was not what Wren expected. She was soft spoken, compassionate, and advocated a view of magic that had not been heard in the Chantry since the forming of the first Circle. Her advice was sound, if daunting- go to the Chantry Mothers. Convince them, at least, that she was not the monster they envisioned. Sow doubt, if nothing else, and their hand would be stayed.

Wren looked out at the mass of refugees gathering in the now safe Crossroads. She felt a pang of guilt for what her fellow mages had helped put these innocent people through. Mothers carried weeping children to the healer tents, while the fathers dragged rickety wagons with what little they salvaged from their steadings. These were people who had no involvement with the Circle or the Templars, and yet they were the ones most affected by the war raging through these lands.

Solas joined her vigil in solemn silence, watching with a face blank of emotion. She followed his eyes, finding a lone elf child clinging desperately to an Inquisition soldier. A city elf, probably lost from an alienage. The corners of his mouth twitched down and he spoke softly, almost to himself, “Hopefully, the Inquisition can find a way to help these people.”

                Wren watched the growing crowd, mulling over Solas’ words. ‘ _I must help. I must show them that not all mages have gone mad.’_

Cassandra came up to her, a few soldiers in tow, “Corporal Vale is in charge of the troops and relief effort here. We should see if there is anything they need.” Wren nodded, and followed the Seeker to the growing encampment atop an overlooking hill.

*

The next two days were spent helping establish Crossroads as a place for refugees to seek safety, and for the Inquisition to begin recruiting. She knew where some supplies were stashed, and her fellow mages could spare them, if only to wipe the sneer off recruit Whittle’s face when an ‘apostate’ gave him those supplies freely. She helped find lost family members, and settle debts to the dead. Each task earning the Inquisition more admiration from the people. It was a beginning.

They encountered many groups of both Templars and mages, though when Wren led the way, she tried to avoid the mages as much as possible. One group was unavoidable, however, and when the last one fell to a well-placed bolt from Varric, Wren stepped closer to the bodies to search their faces for any familiarity. Cassandra rifled through their pockets, pulling out a piece of parchment and reading it, before handing it to Wren without comment.

                ‘ _Let the fools in Redcliffe play the good mage, as they always do. We know the truth. This world is ours to conquer, and every worthless peasant who threw a stone, every Templar who glared in disappointment at our Harrowing, deserves to know it. Follow the trail to the Witchwood and find your brothers.’_

Relief washed over her. Her friends were safe in Redcliffe! They must be! She glared down at the bodies at her feet, disgusted that these fools thought to rule. Did they not learn from their histories? Had they never listened to the tales from Tevinter? When had they forgotten the havoc wreaked by the first Magisters- the first Darkspawn?

Solas approached her, reading the note over her shoulder before giving her an appraising glance, “By your scowl, I assume these were not one of yours?”

Wren shook her head, dropping the not on the corpse, “No. My friends must be the ones they say are holed up in Redcliffe.”

“Ah. Then you will no longer have a fear of confronting these mages.” It was not a question, but a clear statement that held a hint of command.

Eyes narrowed, Wren growled softly, “No, I will not.”

*

Wren watched her mage companion explore the now safe ruins, walking a slow half circle around the object both he and their temporary ally had been searching for. Veil fire flickered from the wall sconces, casting him in strange shadows and for a moment, she could almost see the young man she imagined he once was. Captivated by the ancient objects he found and confident enough in his own power to not fear them.

Solas crouched next to the elven artifact, his hands hovering over it, just barely above the dull surface. He glanced over his shoulder to the watching Wren, giving a tip of his head to indicate she approach. When she kneeled next to him, he signaled that she hold her hands over it, same as his had been.  “Do you feel it? The thrum of magic, tendrils of the Veil, twisting into the artifact?” Wren nodded, herself fascinated by the sensation. The elf continued, “These, I believe, will strengthen the Veil in this area. Your Mark should activate it, protecting this place from further Rifts opening.”

Sending a tendril of Will into her Mark, she watched in surprise as the device reacted, igniting and spinning with power. The room lit up with green Fade energy, briefly quelling the hushed conversations of the others.

Solas gave a tight lipped smile, closing his eyes briefly, “Yes, the Veil is strengthened.” He gave her a small nod, and a very small, but genuine smile. “Thank you,” he said softly.

A little cautious, Wren returned the smile in kind, “I merely listened to the more experienced one, Hahren.”

Her quip caught him off guard, and his eyes were wide as she stood.

Varric came over, allowing Wren a distraction. The dwarf frowned at the artifact, as Solas stood and slipped away to speak with the elf that accompanied them.

“So, Chuckles says this thing helps?”

Wren gave a little shrug of her shoulders, “Well, he _is_ the resident Fade expert.” She looked down at her hand, noticing that the Mark was quieter now that the artifact was active.

The dwarf made a face, wrinkling his nose, “He is, but I still think this thing is creepy.” Wren laughed, unable to disagree with him on that count.

*

Their last night in the Hinterlands, for now, had Wren leading them up a game trail to a little clearing beside the river that fed the horse master’s lands. She marked their position on a small map, and sent one of the nearby soldiers with orders to report the spot to Vale. It would make a good outpost for the Inquisition, rhe importance of which was not lost to her, and Wren used her knowledge of the local area to find the most advantageous spots.

Remembering a patch of Elfroot nearby, she walked along the river’s edge after the tents had been set, and began gathering the much needed herb. Cassandra followed along, watching her with some suspicion, “You seem… comfortable, in the Hinterlands.” The Seeker had been unusually silent through much of the day, so the mage was not truly surprised by the question.

Wren glanced up, her hands covered in dirt and sap, “Of course I am.” There was no use denying it. Her knowledge of the land had aided them greatly so far, and the Seeker would have to be blind to not have noticed. “My Circle came here to meet with the other mages before the Conclave.” She turned back to her task, carefully packing the earth back down around the disturbed plants, in hopes that they would grow again. “Before the Breach, I spent the last six months in this haven.”

Cassandra opened her mouth, probably to ask more questions, but Varric called them back to camp with a message from Leliana. The Seeker regarded her with her hawk sharp eyes, before indicating the mage precede her into camp.

The party settled around the campfire, serving themselves from the trail rations that were stewing over the small fire. Wren mulled over the last few days, watching the dancing flames without seeing them. So much had changed. So much had been destroyed. Not just the Chantry or the Conclave, but the hopes of every mage and Templar that had prayed for the Conclave’s ability to seek peace. The whole of Thedas was shaken by the death of the Divine. What would happen now? What changes to the land, the politics, the culture, would occur?

And more importantly… who had caused it all?

She was pulled from her ponderings by a soft rustle of fabric to her left, and a feather-light touch to her wrist. She looked up sharply, just noticing that Solas had sat next to her. He lifted her hand gently, pausing only a moment to look up at her, “May I?” Wren gave a small nod, confused by his actions. He turned her hand this way and that, never exerting more than the smallest amount of pressure, as if to make up for the first time he had gripped this same wrist. His light touch sent a shiver up her spine, though she could not place why. When he spoke, it was quietly, for her ears only, “I am glad to see that the Mark has stopped spreading or giving you pain. It seems that with each Rift you close, you gain more control over its power. “ He looked up again, his blue eyes searching her hazel ones for something. “You are a… curiosity. Tell me, Herald, what does it feel like?” There was an almost _longing_ note in his voice.

Before she could answer, or even formulate an answer, the fire was doused in sand. Both mages startled at the hiss, jumping back from each other and reaching for their staffs. Cassandra stood by the fire, staring down at the embers to ensure it would not relight. When the mages realized it had been merely the Seeker preparing for bed, they gave each other slightly sheepish looks, one corner of Wren’s lip curling up a little, and Solas trying to hide his own tight smile.

Taking her cue from the Seeker, she addressed Solas , “It is late, and our esteemed commander has deemed it time for sleep.” Wren bowed shortly to her fellow mage, “Goodnight, Hahren.”

Once again, Solas looked surprised at her use of elvhen. She allowed herself a tiny smirk, before moving away, not leaving him the chance to respond, and heading towards her small tent. She stopped to wish Cassandra and Varric both a good evening, pausing at the smirk Varric was giving her. _‘ What a strange man._ ’

Once inside, she tied the flap closed, and quickly stripped down to her smallclothes. Every day in the Hinterlands had been full of climbing and fighting and hauling around supplies. She was lucky to not be frequently covered in gore and viscera, like Cassandra was, but she was sweaty and her breeches were full of sand, and she smelled of the rams they had hunted and cleaned for the village earlier.

As she settled into her makeshift bed, the blankets fluffed around her like a nest, the last thought going through her mind was the desperate desire for a bath…


	3. To Invite the People (and the People Came)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations at the end.

In the few days that Wren and the rest were gone, Josephine and Leliana made the necessary arrangements to obtain an audience with the Chantry Mothers in Val Royeaux. Using Mother Giselle’s contacts in the Chantry itself, as well as what influence Josephine could push, a time and date was set for the Inquisition, and more importantly, their ‘Herald of Andraste’, to present their case. As soon as they were confident enough that they could actually get there, a raven was sent to Crossroads to fetch everyone back.

So the party trudged back up the mountain path, this time accompanied by horses and new recruits, to return to Haven and prepare themselves for the next task. They were a little worse for the wear, but everyone seemed pleased at the difference they had made, both for the Inquisition itself, and for the people of Crossroads. Cassandra’s mood was greatly improved from their trip down the road, and she barely rose to Varric’s bait (much to Wren and Solas’ disappointment.) Varric was rambling on about all the inspiration for his next book, arguing with Cassandra about whether he was allowed to include some…muses… similar to the party members.

Wren was pleased at the hard work they had done, and how much safer it was to travel across this road now. So much good, so many lives changed- and by a heretic mage, an apostate elf, a morally questionable writer, and a Seeker that was condemned by her own Chantry. All in a day’s work.

She noticed, though, that Solas was less aloof than he had been at the beginning of this adventure. He kept his horse close to hers, occasionally asking her arbitrary questions about her family’s lands, or her life in the Circle. Never anything that was sensitive or painful for her to discuss, but odd little questions, asked softly while the others were bickering ahead. She felt like he was probing for some specific answer, but was unwilling to simply come out and say it.

After a long few hours of this, Wren signaled the recruits to go ahead of her horse, on the pretense of searching for something in her pack. As expected, Cassandra and Varric were too busy quarreling to notice, but Solas slowed his mount down until he was barely walking at all, leaving a large distance between himself and the rest of the group. He did not turn to watch her, but she got the distinct impression that he could see her none the less.

Smiling to herself, she spurred her horse forward again until she was even with the silent elf. They picked up their pace to keep up with the caravan, but left the gap ahead of them. Only the rear-guard and trailing scouts were further behind them now.

Solas was the one to break the silence, giving her a brief glance before returning his steady gaze to the path ahead, “I assume that your intention was to speak without the distraction of the herd.” She giggled softly at that, almost able to imagine the shuffling mass of soldiers to be druffalo. He quirked an eyebrow at her, and waited for her to answer.

Regaining her composure, she nodded, “I thought that perhaps you would enjoy a more private conversation, since it seemed you were unwilling to speak plainly around our companions.”

She had caught him off guard, that much was obvious. He stared at her openly for a time, before clearing his throat, “Ah.”

They rode in silence for a while, and Wren started to fear that Solas wouldn’t actually say anything further. She chewed on her lip a little, fiddling with the end of the reins and trying to come up with some way to apologize. Finally he spoke again, his voice confident and steady, as if there had been no pause in their conversation, “I am curious about you, Lady Trevelyan. A noble by birth, a mage by power, an apostate by circumstance, and a herald by Fate.” She cringed at his descriptions, but could find to objection. He continued, “In all those things, I cannot understand where you would learn to speak elvhen, or come to have a tattoo that so represents the Vallaslin. The boots, the way you use your magic, even some of the quirks you express. They all suggest a… _Dalish_ association.” Wren saw him glance at her ears, exposed now that her hair was long enough to pull back, as if to reassure himself that she was human.

The way he said Dalish made her feel somehow guilty, but she sat up a little straighter in the saddle. A partial explanation was easy enough, if a little painful. “I grew up in the Circle, taken there nearly twenty years ago while I was still young and easily molded. At the time, I had been ripped from everything I knew, and thrown into the unfamiliar, told only that it was for my own good. I was frightened, guilt-ridden, and lonely.” It had been a hard time for her, and even speaking about the beginning made the pain flare anew- if only for a moment. “I was one of the lucky ones, however. One of the others, older than me by a few years, was also lonely. Enough so, that he reached out to a terrified child, and offered her companionship and the comforts of a family.” She smiled a little, remembering that first meeting, “His name was Thenal Lavellan, though everyone simply called him Curt, for his way of approaching people. He was the fourth mage born to his Clan, though his magic bloomed late, and since none of the others were willing to step down, he was made to leave them and strike out on his own. It was pure luck that the Templars who picked him up brought him to the Circle, instead of simply killing him, but he also had that way with people- to blunt for anyone to not trust him.” ‘ _Much like yourself, Solas._ ’ She added to silently.

Pausing again, her fingers ghosting over the mark on her face, she thought back to the day he’d given it to her. Had it really been four years? It seemed so much more recent than that. “Our inner Circle was formed of a band of misfits. A Dalish Elf, a Marches noble, a Tevinter outcast, and a Qunari rebel, among the other debris. We were the left overs, but we formed a family, a Clan, with Curt as our mock Keeper. It was simply fun at first, something to help fill the void of loneliness that is the Circle, but it became the only _thing_ we had that the Chantry could not _take_ from us. And when the rebellion started… we were one of the only groups that didn’t lose anyone to the massacres...” The sentence hung in the air, heavy and full of the fear that burned through every Circle in Thedas at the time. That night was burned into her mind, much as every day after the Conclave.

Silence descended on the pair as Wren struggled with her inner fears and Solas gave her the space and quiet she needed to do so. A light snow had begun, and the air stilled as the clouds sunk low over the mountain pass. The way was getting a little steeper, but the path was better worn- less mud and more solid earth or stable rock. The horses seemed to like the sturdy footing, and the ride became a little more pleasant, despite the chill. It was quiet, peaceful, back behind the rest of the _herd._ How long had it been since Wren had felt this sense of safety and peace? Her mind might be roiling, but she trusted her cohorts to protect her, and knew now that she had power enough to protect them. Hadn’t there been a sense of true companionship starting to form..?

Taking a deep breath, Wren turned a sad smile to Solas, who was still watching, waiting for her to continue. “I do not mean any insult by my use of your heritage. It became so much a part of my life, that I was happy to have someone to share it with again.” She lifted the reins, prepared to move her horse forward and catch up with everyone else, when the elf beside her reached out, his fingers just barely brushing the top of her hand.

“I am not insulted, Da’len, just surprised.” He gave her one of his tight lipped smiles, though Wren knew it was in sympathy. Almost as an afterthought, he whispered, “You are a curiosity.”

She chuckled softly, looking down at her hand, “You said that before, Hahren. Is that good?”

He sat up straight, looking forward and kicking his mount into a soft trot, though not so quickly that her own could not keep up. His tone when he spoke was matter of fact, “Mm. I suppose it is.”

*

One of Josephine’s servants waylaid the party as they came through Haven’s gate, “Lady Montilyet requests the company of the Seeker and the Herald for dinner in her study.” The girl stated, her accent nearly as refined as Josephine’s. “My Lady says that there are letters for both of you, which she had placed in your cabins.”

Glancing at each other with a little trepidation, Cassandra and Wren sighed and dismounted, letting the soldiers take their horses to tend. It would be a few hours before dinner, but the two of them had discussed how much formal dinners with Josephine reminded them of their respective noble families. Their fellow council member was not simply a noble, she was one of those that truly enjoyed the Game.

Promising to meet with Cassandra at the Chantry entrance (so neither of them would have to be alone with Josephine) and with some time to kill, Wren bid her companions a good day and left for her cabin. At the very least, she could get out of her disgusting clothes. Josephine had promised that she would send for clothing that would fit the young mage and give her something to wear around camp. The thought of being in something clean, even if _she_ wasn’t, was delightful. Hefting her pack, she pushed open the door to find the young elf from before, fiddling with a large basin set near the fire place.

Just like the first time, the elf turned and squeaked, dropping a jar of something onto the, thankfully plush, carpet. “Oh! My lady, I didn’t know you were back yet!” the elf immediately fell to her knees, much to Wren’s dismay.

“Oh please, none of that! Get up, get up!” Wren hurried over and helped the poor girl to her feet, “I’m not some noble lord to require bowing and scraping from _anybody_.” The elf seemed about to object, but Wren caught sight of the tub, “What is this?”

Quickly stooping to grab the jar she dropped, the girl uncorked it and poured a little of the amber scented contents into the steaming tub of water, “I was told to pull you a bath, m’lady. That you’d be back today and I was to keep it warm for you. I didn’t know you’d be back so early, so I was just now adding the oils.”

Wren was too shocked to do more than stare in open mouthed wonder at the water for a moment, before turning and roughly hugging the elven girl, “Oh thank you! I’ve been dreaming of a bath all day, and I feared I’d have to go dunk my head in a trough! This is perfect! Did you drag this all the way up here? Oh thank you so much!” babbling happily, Wren finally released the poor elf (who was torn between being terrified that the Herald had deigned to touch her, and giggling at the childish babblings). The mage tossed her pack onto the floor and shucked off her armor, “I have a dinner with Lady Montilyet, so this will be perfect.” She paused, realizing the girl was looking more and more uncomfortable. ‘ _I keep forgetting that I’m not in the Circle anymore.’_ Modesty was not something afforded to the mages, especially the youngsters. The poor elf girl didn’t want to be rude and leave, but was obviously not used to someone so open. “You are dismissed, for the whole night- get something to eat and get some rest.” The girl smiled nervously, bowing a little and backing towards the door again. A flash of thought came to Wren, and she lifted her hand, “Oh wait!”

“Y-yes, m’lady?”

Wren’s face became serious, her tone a little dark, “If anyone ever gives you trouble, or calls you a name, you tell me, alright? I won’t have the Inquisition treating elven any differently than anyone else in our service.”

The girl looked completely shocked, but nodded mutely before stumbling out the door and shutting it behind her.

Wren nodded to herself, before turning back to the tub with a delighted grin.

*

Some people just didn’t understand the magic of a long, hot bath. If more people did, then more places would have large baths where one could soak in the healing waters for long hours- without getting cramps in awkward places. Wren had thoroughly enjoyed herself, until her toes started to prune up and that little muscle at the very bottom of her back started to cramp and twist. Nothing ruins a lovely bath like pruny toes and cramps! After she had dried herself off and dressed in her new clothing (warm wool tunic, fur lined breeches, and even new smallclothes!), Wren decided that she had enough time to explore Haven a little and get a better feel for what the Inquisition was becoming.

The camp was bustling with activity as the supplies from Haven came up the road, and the new recruits got settled in. New tents were being erected just outside of the gates, new paving stones placed along the foot-worn paths around the tiny town, and soldiers and civilians alike were working on fortifying the wall. There were even trebuchets being built. It was impressive how much had been done in a few short days; she got the distinct feeling that Commander Cullen was behind most of it. Boot clad feet carried her to the training area, and she was surprised to see that the Commander was not with the recruits. Instead, Seeker Cassandra could be seen with a practice sword, hacking away at a much abused practice dummy.

Wren watched her for a time, admiring the ease with which she parried and twisted away from imagined blows before leaping back to hit the target again. A smirk tugged at the mages lips as she approached a little closer, “I think you need a practice dummy made of sterner stuff. Have you asked Varric to stand in?”

That got her at least an amused grunt and a raised eyebrow. What a stern nut to crack! After taking a few more swings at the well battered doll, Cassandra stopped and turned away with a sigh, looking out over the recruits. “Have I done the right thing?” the warrior asked. She started speaking, questioning her actions up until the closing of the Rift and the possible consequences of it, questioning if she could even be considered a traitor by history. Wren was shocked with how open the Seeker was being. This was a woman of action, she admitted as much herself. Why should she be questioning anything? She had to make decisions, and she did. She acted with decisive force, and, in Wren’s mind, was more responsible for saving the town that the little mage could possibly be. Cassandra acted without stopping to fret about it. All Wren did was point her hand at things. They spoke for a time, alternating between discussing the recruits training and discussing Cassandra’s crisis of self.

Finally, Wren placed a hesitating hand on Cassandra’s shoulder, “We can question our actions until the Maker himself comes through that Breach- but that won’t change what has happened.”

The Seeker seemed to take heart in that, and nodded, moving her attention to the practice dummy again. As Wren made to walk away though, the warrior stopped her, “I’m curious. Do you even believe in the Maker?”

The mage eyed her a little cautiously. As an apostate in magic, she was already in enough trouble with the Chantry. Being an apostate in the faith might mean the lovely platform of Val Royeaux that had a long drop and a short stop. However, this was not just the Seeker and the Right Hand of the Divine. This was Cassandra. Her ally, and perhaps even her friend. If you want people to trust you, you have to show them trust first.

“Honestly, I can’t really say. There have been so many gods of so many people- who am I to claim to know?”

Her companion eyed her a moment, before giving a little nod, “I suppose it doesn’t really matter now. I have to believe you were put here on this path for a reason. Now it simply remains to see where it leads us.” She walked away, perhaps to drag one of the recruits into a spar.

Wren was left standing in the organized chaos, contemplating the philosophies of the gods and the Fade.

*

One of the letters in her cabin had been from Leliana, telling Wren to speak with the blacksmith (who was a bit busy right then), the requisitions officer (who, after speaking with her a second time, Wren realized wasn’t racists or anti-mage- she was just rude to everyone) and the apothecary. Deciding that a herbalist couldn’t be any worse, the young hero made her way through the crowded cobblestone streets of Haven, past the beckoning tavern, and up towards the apothecary. She was surprised to see her fellow mage, lingering outside of a small cabin, watching the Breach flutter and grumble.

“Hahren!” Wren couldn’t help but smile, shuffling through a bit of a snow drift to make her way to her friend.

The elf turned, a small smile flitting across his lips, “The Chosen of Andreste.” Wren groaned and rolled her eyes, and he smiled, “A blessed hero sent to save us all.”

Feeling a little better, Wren looked around as if lost, “Am I riding in on a shining steed?”

Solas didn’t miss a beat, “I would have suggested a griffon, but sadly, they’re all extinct.” Wren desperately wanted to ask him about griffons, and if he’d seen them in the Fade, but he continued, “Joke as you will, posturing is necessary.” Wren giggled, rather breaking the imaginary construction of a valiant hero riding a dashing griffon.

They stood for a while in companionable silence, before his attention drifted back towards the Breach. “I’ve journeyed deep into the Fade, in ancient ruins and battlefields, to see the dreams of lost civilizations.” His eyes drifted down, watching the light snow drift down to the ground as his mind saw shadows of the scenes he’d observed, “I’ve watched as hosts of spirits clash to reenact the bloody past in ancient wars, both famous and forgotten.” He paused a moment, before dragging his gaze away from the dreamscape before his eyes. He looked down at Wren, a little mischief coming to his face. “Every great war has its heroes. I’m just curious what kind you’ll be.”

Wren was fascinated. He’d spoken a little about the Fade, but this was a chance to learn more of what he had experienced. “What do you mean, ruins and battlefields?”  
Solas looked a little surprised that she was asking, but seemed pleased to be able to explain, “Any building strong enough to withstand the rigors of Time has a history. Every battlefield is steeped in death. _Both_ attract spirits. They press against the Veil, weakening the barrier between our worlds.” He looked away again, obviously thinking about what he’d seen, “When I dream in such places, I go deep into the Fade. I can find memories no other living being has ever seen.” He sounded proud, and like this was impressive, which to Wren, it was.

“I’ve never heard of anyone going so far into the Fade- that’s extraordinary!” Wren said eagerly, before her training in decorum could stall her tongue. What knowledge this man must have! What amazing things he must have seen!

Solas smiled a little wider, giving a tip of his head, “Thank you. It’s not a common field of study, for obvious reasons. Not so flashy as throwing fire or lightning.” He smirked, and Wren recognized his disparaging of the primary use of magic for the Inquisition so far- battle magics. There was passion in his eyes as he spoke, stirred something in Wren, and she couldn’t help but lean eagerly towards him, waiting to hear more. “The thrill of finding remnants of a thousand-year-old dream? I would not trade it for anything.” His eyes wandered off again, and his brief silence left Wren desperate to ask for more information, but she recognized that outside in the cold, in the shadow of the Chantry, wasn’t exactly the best place for such heretical discussions.

“I will stay then.” He said with conviction, “At least until the Breach has been closed.”

Wren was a little surprised by his statement, “Was that in doubt?”

He raised an eyebrow at her, “I am an apostate mage, surrounded by Chantry forces and, unlike you, I do not have a divine _Mark_ protecting me.” His tone was a bit condescending, but when phrased that way, it did seem like a silly question for her to ask. “Cassandra has been accommodating, but you understand my caution.”

Wren hated for him to think that Cassandra was the only protection he had, “You came here to help, Hahren. I won’t let anyone use that against you.”

His tone turned serious, his eyes dark, “How would you stop them?”

Wren practically growled, thinking of the treatment Curt had received from people for being much as Solas was, “However I have to.”

The answer visibly shocked the elf, and he had to pause a moment before answering. “Thank you.” They regarded each other, Solas with a small, soft smile, and Wren with a determination burning in her eyes.  Visibly shaking off, the older mage stood up a little straighter and took a small step back, “For now, let us hope either the mages or the Templars have the power to seal the Breach.” It was an obvious dismissal, and Wren gave him a short, polite bow. He returned it in kind, before walking the short distance to his door.

Wren felt her cheeks turning a bit pink, as she realized exactly what she had said to him, before shaking her head and continuing on to the apothecary. Solas was fascinating, and she hoped that at some point before he left, she would be able to ask him at least some of the burning questions that raced through her mind right then. Until then, she really should try to control her passions a little more… And her tongue.

She finished in the apothecary fairly quickly, finding the man inside to be a bit blunt, but otherwise a decent sort- he did save her after all. _‘Well, with the help of a certain apostate mage…’_ She couldn’t help eyeing the closed door, wondering what a wandering Fade mage did in his spare time when he wasn’t traipsing around in the Fade or rescuing damsels in distress.

Her head was spinning a bit and she thought that there was just enough time to grab a calming drink from the Tavern before having to play the nobles daughter at Josephine’s dinner. She managed to get a drink from the owner (though only managed to pay for it by leaving a gold piece on the counter and walking off), and had just settled down in a quieter corner when she felt the chair beside her move and a friendly voice ask, “So, now that Cassandra’s out of earshot, are you holding up alright?”

Wren turned and smiled in relief at Varric, ready to talk to _anyone_ about the crazy couple days she’d been having.

*

Having delayed long enough, Wren had finally made it to Josephine’s dinner invitation, but not before being dragged into an argument between the camp mages and ex-Templars and then being waylaid by the Marquis while he attempted to bully the Inquisition into leaving. The mage was just about fed up with the political plays going on in the camp. Between Chancellor Obnoxious and the Marquis du Pompous, it was impressive that she hadn’t simply put them both on ice to cool down their hot heads. It was, however, interesting to hear that Cullen no longer considered himself a Templar, and that even Josephine was getting annoyed with the Marquis’ political plays. It almost made the two of them seem like real people!

Wren hid a smirk at the thought, while Josephine regaled her and Cassandra with a rather amusing story about one of the Counts, who happened to be an uncle of Lady Montilyet’s , and how his wandering hands got him in trouble at the court. Cassandra even loosened up enough to talk about her rather short time in the court. Apparently, the Seeker was a bit of a trouble maker as a child. When they turned to Wren, expecting her to share something about her noble background, the girl cast about for some way to change the topic. It was not pleasant, discussing the sort of things her family had wanted her to do. After all, a tamed Circle Mage was no good for the normal life of a noble, but they could still produce heirs and be used to political alliances…

Lucky for her, on of Leliana’s messengers interrupted, saying that the spymaster was ready for them in the War Room. Gratefully, Wren stood and led the way. Cullen and Leliana were already waiting for them, so they got to work quickly. There was much to be organized and discussed before making a plan on how to approach the Chantry mothers. Josephine gave Wren a letter from one of her noble friends, concerning some rather distant relations behaving badly- while using the mages name and position as a means to further their conduct. Despite the tempting offer from Leliana for a ‘rumor of assassins,’ Cullen’s flat out denouncement was more appealing. Not only did it deal with the problem rather neatly, but it made it very clear to the rest of the squabbling relatives that Wren was no longer willing to play politics for her family. With any luck, that would be the last she’d hear of it.

When everything else had been discussed, Josephine finally brought up Val Royeaux. “Having the Herald address the clerics is not a terrible idea.”

Cullen turned, incredulous, “You can’t be serious?”

The diplomat scowled at him, “Mother Giselle isn’t wrong: at the moment, the Chantry’s only strength is that they are united in opinion.” Cullen shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck in frustration and turned away.

Leliana spoke up, apparently agreeing with Cullen’s obvious sentiment on the matter, “And we should ignore the danger to the Herald?”

Josephine smiled a little, though it seemed only a polite mask, “Let’s ask her.”

Wren was a little surprised that their bickering had stopped so soon, much less that all three actually turned to look at her, as if her opinion mattered. It took her a moment to answer, but she couldn’t help feeling like approaching the Chantry would only make things worse- and said as much. While she knew that Cullen was against the visit, she was still surprised by how readily he agreed, and the almost protective tone he took, glancing at her briefly.

She was less surprised, however, when Cassandra volunteered to go with her. The Seeker turned to Leliana, her voice taking its commanding tone, “Mother Gisselle said she could provide us names? Use them.”

The spymaster was unsure, “But why? This is nothing but a-“

Cassandra cut her off though, obviously ready to do what she had been lamenting about earlier- make a decision and see it through. “What choice do we have Leliana? Right now we can’t approach anyone for help with the Breach.” It was a sobering truth, and everyone in the room seemed to at least agree on that much, even Cullen stopped shaking his head, and looked unwillingly in agreeance. They needed to act, but they were not powerful enough on their own. If they could at least keep the Chantry from constantly threatening them with excommunication and death, then it might be a little easier to get the alliances they needed.

The rest of the planning was left up to Josephine and Leliana, including informing the Chantry of their arrival and getting those who might be sympathetic gathered in one place. Cullen muttered something about gathering a small guard to escort them to the city, stopping to glance at Wren a moment. She thought that perhaps he would say something, but he just sighed, gave her a nod, and left.

While the rest were planning, Wren decided there was one thing she could ensure happened. It was late enough at night that there were only a few people to gasp and bow as she strode past (you’d think they’d be used to her by now, seeing as she’d been wandering around town so much). Her light steps carried her up the ice coated stairs, and to the door in question. There was a moment’s hesitation as she raised her hand to knock. What if he was asleep already? Disturbing him…

The mage had no chance to hesitate further, however, as the door opened and an amused looking Solas raised an eyebrow at her, “I thought about letting you stand there a little longer, but felt that it was perhaps a little cruel.” She blushed, grinning at him ruefully. His smile grew a little, and he stepped aside and signaled she should come in.

The cabin was simply kept and utilitarian. There were a few shelves with carefully kept books, supplies for potion making, and, surprisingly, some charcoal sketches on the desk that appeared to be stylized images of castles and towers. Perhaps those ancient ruins he’d spoken of? Knowing it was rude to pry too much, she turned to him and chewed on her lip a little, unsure how to say it. He waited patiently, though one corner of his lip tugged up a little further. Finally, she just blurted out, “I leave for Val Royeaux in the morning. The advisors wish for me to take Mother Gisselle’s advice and speak with any of the clerics that will listen.” She paced a little, turning to look at the fire burning merrily behind her, “I worry that it is Templar trap, or a flight of fancy. Cullen seems to agree.” The elf shuffled a little behind her, and Wren realized that she was rambling, and likely keeping him from bed. Turning around, she took his hands in hers, “Please Solas, I need someone there who I can trust. I hate to ask, but please, will you come with us?”

The older mage looked shocked, his eyes lingering on their hands a moment, before he looked back up at her, “It is a complicated thing you ask, da’len. Val Royeaux is not just home to the Chantry, but to their Templars as well. _You_ are an apostate by circumstance. I am one by choice.”

Her heart sunk, and she nodded, starting to release his hands. He was right, of course, it was a ridiculous thing to ask of him- risking so much just for her comfort. What was she thinking?

But his hands turned and gripped hers tightly, “However,” she looked up, surprised, as he continued, “It has likely been some time since the renegade Templar order has faced a mage of any talent. Perhaps I will be safe enough.”

Wren looked at him, thinking at first that he referred to himself, and was surprised to see, by his smirk and approving look, that he was giving _her_ the compliment. There was no stopping the grin that broke across her face, though she did just manage to keep from flinging her arms around his neck. “Thank you, Hahren! I’ll make sure we are _both_ safe!”

He chuckled at her enthusiasm, and released her hands. Wren felt her cheeks darken- that was the first time she’d heard him laugh, in any real respect. It was... Fumbling a bit, she gave him a bow and skittered around him towards the door, making her escape while decorum still allowed it. His eyes and smile followed her out, and the sound of his low laughter warmed her all the way back to her own cabin.

*

Mountains made for a beautiful view and grand vistas, but they were Maker damned for riding. Blisters were the least of Wren’s worries, but they were definitely the most prominent and persistent. She shifted in the saddle again, taking one foot out of its stirrup and tucking it behind the saddle horn. Those tiny blisters along her thigh were relieved, but it put more pressure on the hot spots forming along her tail bone. No position in this saddle was comfortable for a three day ride- and she had even ridden side saddle for Andreste’s sake! But there was just nothing that could relieve this extent of saddle sores. It didn’t appear that anyone else was having any trouble. Cassandra led the column of soldiers sitting high in the saddle and looking the ever proud Seeker. Varric had a specialized saddle that he regularly bragged about- with padded seating. Wren could just strangle the dwarf for every smug, knowing look he shot her way. And Solas seemed unaffected by anything, honestly. He spent much of the time in saddle reading, or even trotting off the trail to nearby ruins, and meeting with them again some ways down the road. A few times he indulged her in conversation, explaining with lyrical enthusiasm his experiences and opinions on the nature of the Fade. They would engage in debates about the nature of Spirits versus Demons, and whether without the influence of an observer, Demons were actually ‘evil’ in the sense that we understood.

Soldiers would only engage in very short, direct conversation with the young mage- most of them seemed too awed by her presence to _dare_ speak with her. It was annoying, and always made Wren snarl under her breath, which only made them apologize for some perceived wrong and then the begging would start and she would throw her hands up in a huff and turn her horse back towards her companions. Varric though it was hilarious.

By the early afternoon of the third day, the mountains gave way to farmland, that turned into little hamlets, which became the outer fringes of Val Royeaux. The party had reached actual cobblestone roads and civilized people, thank the Maker! Cassandra took immediate command of the soldiers, sending them to restock personal supplies for the return trip, as well as buy anything that Haven was in need of with what coin they had. She dragged the rest of the group to a large inn, just off the main causeway. There were servants waiting for them outside, and by the conversation one of them had with the Seeker it was rapidly apparent that the Inquisition was expected. There were only two other guest staying at Renard Roux ( _the Red Fox? Such an Orlesian name…_ ), the rest of the rooms were reserved for the companions and high ranking soldiers that had come with them. The lower ranks would bunk in the stables, in hopes that their presence nearby would prevent any incidents from taking place. Their horses were taken from them, and their things rushed to their rooms by mousey servants, mostly elven, much to Wren’s dismay.

They had no time to get settled however. They were shown their rooms, and the Seeker immediately told the companions to clean up, both body and armor, and make themselves presentable to the Chantry Mothers. Nervousness did not become her, and the warrior was incredibly short tempered while everyone prepared.

Finally, in the late afternoon, the group left for the central market, where they had been told to meet with those willing from the Chantry. As they crossed the bridge, Wren noted the shift from middle-class and working force, to high end and noble. In the outskirts, the people had looked at the Inquisition forces with a nervous sort of awe. As they approached the massive gates of Val Royeaux, the nobles looked at them in disgust, or even fear. One woman yelped, actually yelped, when she realized that it was the Herald of Andreste and the Inquisition walking up the bridge.

Varric’s low voice rumbled from her side, “Just a guess Seeker, but I think they all know who we are…”

“Your skills of observation never fail to impress me, Varric.” Cassandra replied, though rather lack luster compared to her usual responses. She glanced about, her brow drawn down and her face starting to scowl.

As they passed through the gates, a woman ran up to them in nondescript, servant style clothing, “My Lady Herald!” She dropped to one knee before Wren, bowing her head briefly.

Cassandra motioned her to stand, “You are one of Leliana’s people.” She observed. “What have you found?” she sounded so hopeful, but from the expression on the woman’s face, Wren knew the news was not what the Seeker would want to hear.

“The Chantry Mothers away you… But, so do a great many Templars!” The whole group shifted nervously, and Wren looked to Cassandra for some guidance. Cullen had anticipated this. Was it the same trap he feared?

“There are Templars here?” Cassandra seemed a pleased, until the spy responded.

“People seem to think the Templars will protect them… from the _Inquisition!”_ Her voice was incredulous.

Cassandra gave a gruff response, but Wren, Varric and Solas were paying little attention. They looked at each other, a silent conversation about how this would change things. Varric nodded once, and moved to walk just behind Cassandra, where he might be overlooked by her imposing presence. Wren and Solas dropped a little further back, walking side by side and keeping their eyes open for anyone suspicious.

Wren could little enjoy the beauty of Val Royeaux with the threat of the Templars hanging over her head, and her worries were not assuaged any when she saw a large stage to one side- with a hangman’s noose swaying in the breeze. The younger mages fingers were twitching towards the strap on her chest that would let her staff swing around her side and into her hands. She felt vulnerable already, since they had to leave most of their weapons behind, but she would feel better with her staff in hand. Templars were not new to her, nor was the very real threat they posed… Fingers brushed her arm, and she turned her head to Solas at her side. The elf did not look at her, but kept watching the alley ways as they passed. He radiated calm confidence, and Wren nodded, took a deep breath, and tried to imitate his relaxed pose.

The market was nearly empty on their side, but for a few sentinels standing around. A group of highly polished guards, obviously higher ranking, stood to one side and stiffened as they passed. Wren could hear the leader muttering about leaving the Inquisition for the Templars to deal with, especially since the party held _two_ mages. It made the younger mage wonder if Orlesian guards were anything more than pretty decoration, behind those silly masks. There was little time to ponder, however, as they rounded a large tower in the center of the market and came upon the crowd.

On a temporary platform stood one of the Chantry Mothers speaking passionately to the restless crowd of market goers.  A few Templar guards stood on the stage with her, and others could be spotted here and there along the edges of the shops and stalls. Wren eyed them warily, but for now, they seemed uninterested in her little group. Cassandra led them towards the center of the crowd, most too caught up in the Mother’s speech to notice them right away.

“-Together, we mourn our Divine.” The cleric was saying, her Orlesian accent thick, “Her naïve and beautiful heart, silenced by treachery!”  The crowd gasped dramatically, but Wren was a little taken back by the comment itself, ‘ _Did she just call the Divine naïve?’_

The Mother paused dramatically for a moment, before continuing, “You wonder what will become of her murderer. Well, wonder no more!” Her eyes slid directly over to the party, locking onto Wren’s with a combination of triumph and disgust, “Behold!” Her hand shot out to point at the poor mage, “The so-called _Herald of Andraste_! Claiming to rise where our beloved fell.”  Wren could feel a snarl forming on her lips. Wasn’t this supposed to be one of the clerics who would hear them out? Had Mother Giselle set them up? The woman continued as the crowd gaped and moved away from the Herald, “We say- this is a false prophet! The Maker would send no _mage_ in our hour of need!”

Unable to hold back anymore, Wren snarled at the haughty woman, “I made no such claim of divinity! I am here because of our common enemy! The _Breach_ concerns us all, and my only concern is closing it!” A light touch on her elbow halted her before she could storm the stage. Solas was staring at her hard, his eyes firm, and he gave a small shake of his head. She understood him well enough, anger was useless here, and this woman may well be worthless to their cause.

Cassandra missed the exchange however, and she took a few steps forward, her voice pleading, “It’s true! The Inquisition seeks only to end this madness before it is too late!”

The Mother smirked at them, “It is already too late!” They followed her pointing finger to the right, and saw just what the spy had warned them about earlier. Wren felt her stomach drop, and for a brief moment, she could only hear in her mind, a mad cackling laughter and her own, younger screams. Her teeth clenched and she couldn’t help be look around for an escape route. The Templars that marched forward were no young soldiers- but seasoned veterans. Their armor gleamed in the light, but you could see scorch marks and dents in the metal, too deeply imprinted to ever be polished out. These were fighters, men and women who had killed mages and abominations alike. _Why did I come here? Why did I agree to this?!_ Wren felt a rising panic. They were outnumbered ten to one, and she could _hear_ the lyrium humming through their veins!

The Templars marched up the stage as the Mother continued her speech with excitement, “The Templars have returned to the Chantry! They will face this “ _Inquisition,”_ and the people will be safe once more!” Before Wren could act on her flight instinct, one of the Templar soldiers did something unthinkable- he struck the Chantry Mother in the back of the head, _hard._ The woman collapsed onto the stage, and her attendants rushed to her aid.

Before Wren could speak, Cassandra moved from her side to intercept the man that was obviously the leader of this Templar group, “Lord Seeker Lucius, its imperative that we speak with-“

The man did even turn to look at her, just continued across the stage, his Templars gathering in his wake, “You will _not_ address me.” His voice came as a low growl of warning.

Cassandra paused, utter confusion written all over her face, “Lord Seeker?”

The Lord Seeker finally turned to Cassandra, his soldiers gathering behind him, “Creating a heretical movement, raising up a puppet as Andraste’s prophet. You should be ashamed.” He turned to address not only the rest of the party, but the gathered (and very confused) crowd, “You should _all_ be ashamed! The Templars failed no one when they left the Chantry to purge the mages!” Wren gulped at that, her fear that the Templars did not care if a mage was apostate or not, confirmed. ‘ _Have they killed all the circles?’_ The man continued, pointing to Cassandra and the young mage, “ _You_ are the ones who have failed! You, who’d leash our righteous swords with doubt and fear! If you came to appeal to the Chantry, you are too late. The only destiny here that demands respect… Is _mine._ ”

Wren gaped at him, her eyes turning to Cassandra for some sort of guidance or reason. Surely this man was insane! But the Seeker looked completely lost and hurt, unable to speak as the man continued, “You are nothing. You have no influence, no power, and certainly no holy purpose.”

One of the younger looking Templars came up, his face worried, “But Lord Seeker, what if she really _was_ sent by the Maker? What if-“

The man that dealt the blow to the Chantry mother interrupted him, sneering at the boy, “You are called to a Higher Purpose! Do not question!”

The Lord Seeker continued, as if no one had said anything, “ _I_ will make the Templar Order a power that stands alone against the Void! _We_ deserve recognition. Independence!” The soldiers behind him saluted, hand to heart, as he rambled. ‘ _Could they really believe what he’s saying? Don’t they understand what’s at stake?’_ The Templar stepped towards them, his eyes boring into Wren’s with a fire of passion that made her queasy, “You have shown me nothing, and the Inquisition? Less than nothing.”  Those eyes would haunt her for many nights yet, but now, they turned to the soldiers, “Templars! Val Royeaux is unworthy of our protection! We March!” The double column of nearly sixty soldiers turned as a unit, and followed their leader out the gates while merchants and nobles scrambled to get out of their way.

While the others were discussing their next move, Wren stumbled over to a pillar, leaning her forehead against the cool marble and trying to take deep breaths. Memories from years past swirled up to the surface, but this time, there was no Curt to distract her. No circle of friends and fellow mages to support each other. No one to hold on to when the terrors woke her, screaming into the Void. She had been wary from the beginning of Cullen’s suggestion to recruit the Templars. Now… the mere thought of doing so was enough to set her shaking again.

_Maker… Creators… What do I do now..?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahren- elder, a term of respect for someone of more power or age than yourself.  
> Da’len (or dalen)- child, though not necessary in the literal sense. It can be used for an apprentice, or to acknowledge the other person’s respect for younger your age/ability
> 
>  
> 
> Quick note- while these first few chapters are very close to the game and include a lot of in game dialogue, I promise that things start to diverge the further you go. Some in game dialogue will always be here, but not all of it, all the time.


	4. Heroes Beyond Counting

“You ok, kid?” Varric’s voice brought Wren back to the present, at least enough for her to put a mask of confidence on and paint a quick smile across her lips.

“Ya just… This place. It’s a bit, much.” She mumbled through a false smile, standing up straight and trying to act normal. The people were starting to turn their attention back to the Inquisition, after such a dramatic exit by the Lord Seeker. The Inquisition had to look presentable which meant that the _Herald_ , their figurehead, had to look presentable; having a panic attack in public was _not_ how one accomplished that goal.

The dwarf saw right through her, but let it be, “He was a charming fellow.” He said with a wary smile. She returned it in kind, before following his lead over to where Cassandra and the Chantry Mother now spoke, the old woman still seated on the ground with her attendants fluttering about her.

“This victory must please you _greatly_ , Seeker Cassandra.” The woman was saying, refusing to even look at any of them directly.

“We came here seeking only to speak with the Mothers.” The warrior responded with little sympathy, “This is not our doing, but yours.”

“And you had no part in forcing out hand? Do not delude yourself.” The cleric said with soft contempt. “Now we have been shown up by our own _Templars_ , in front of everyone!” Ah, they had come to the real problem- shame, and fallen pride. “And my fellow clerics have scattered to the wind, along with their convictions.” The other clerics helped the older woman to her feet, brushing her off and asking if she was well. She waved them off, wobbling a little before turning her raptor gaze to Wren, “Just tell me one thing: do you _truly_ believe you are the Maker’s chosen?”

The mage was a little surprised to be addressed, considering, but her conversation with Cassandra floated back through her head, and she gave a small smile of sympathy. This woman had been abandoned by her soldiers, her colleagues were bickering and confused, and she wasn’t sure what to make of any of it. This was just a woman, desperately trying to cling to her shattered faith. “What I believe matters little. We have to believe that we were all set upon this path for a reason. It only remains to see where it leads us.” Her eyes slid to the Seekers, and she found the woman staring back at her in shock, and maybe with a little bit of mist in her eyes.

The Mother examined her for a while, silent and brooding, before speaking slowly, “That… is perhaps more reassuring than you would know.” The young mage gave her a bow, and moved to the side to allow the clerics to take their leader away.

Solas appeared at Wren’s side, a tiny smile tugging at his lips, “Well, it seems that while you have not won us an ally, you have at least calmed the storm that was churning the political waters of the Chantry.” Wren smiled a little in response, watching the clerics leave in silence, and the people of Val Royeaux drift away to return to business.

Cassandra cleared her throat and started to lead the party back to the gates, “Come, there is nothing left for us to do here now. We should return to Haven.” If her voice was a little gruff, no one said anything.

As they walked the market, however, an arrow hit the wooden sides of a stall they passed, just barely missing Wren’s head. The party immediately jumped into defensive positions, weapons swinging up into hands and eyes looking for the culprit. But no other arrows came, and Wren noticed that the arrow was wrapped with a small strip of paper. Carefully, she pulled it from the wood and unrolled the paper, finding a strange note inside, which included a rather crudely drawn map of the market.

Varric tugged her arm down so he could read the note as well, snorting and looking towards where the arrow must have been fired from, “’Friends of Red Jenny’? Looks like a prank from a bunch of kids, honestly.”

Solas gently removed the note from Wren’s hands, allowing himself and the Seeker to read it, “Except that a child would not have had the precision needed to plant this message so directly before its intended recipient.” He scrunched his nose up a bit, “Though I cannot make any claim to the writer’s intelligence, beyond their abilities with a bow.”

Varric snorted in agreement, shrugging at Wren, “Think we should follow this lead, Boss?”

Wren looked around the market place, but other than a few glares and whispers, no one was paying any particular attention to them. Still, someone went out of their way to get this message to them (if a bit dramatically), and if all else, it might help stop a ‘baddie’ from causing them trouble. “Let’s go ahead and give it a shot. Doesn’t hurt, right?”

So they spent the next couple of hours wandering the market, trying to look casual as they searched for these ‘red things’ mentioned in the note. They split off in to pairs, Varric and Cassandra searching the docks and general market under the pretense of establishing further trade routes for the Inquisition, while Solas and Wren used their lighter tread to explore the café and balconies.

Wren picked up a note that had seemingly fallen from someone’s pocket while Solas spoke with one of the workers. The note was fairly straight forward, detailing when and where ‘the Herald’ had entered Val Royeaux. Creepy, yes, but not much for detail. Solas, apparently finished with the worker, stopped next to her to read the note, nodding a little to himself. He tipped his head towards one of the stairwells, “The last is supposed to be on the balconies, yes?” Wren nodded, and followed him as they tried to casually meander up to the balcony level.

There were other shops up here, and it was both quieter and better smelling. The shop keepers didn’t care if they were Inquisition members, only if their coin was good, and plentiful. Wren couldn’t help but admire much of the products displayed in the decorated windows. There were beautiful dresses with sweeping lines of lace along their hems. One shop held hand blown glass figures. On display in the center was a beautiful Halla statue that Wren spent a few moments admiring, before dragging herself away from the window.

Most of the landings had large pots of flowers and miniature trees, with vines and branches hanging over the edge. The marble walkways were clean swept and sparkling in the early evening light. Wren smiled, really taking in the beauty of the city around them for the first time since they had arrived. Up here, it was easy to forget the drama that had taken place below. You could see the grand palaces of the nobles, the brightly colored banners of different guilds and merchant groups, waving merrily in the breeze, and the beautifully elegant boats floating at the docks, coming in to moor for the evening. Momentarily forgetting the task at hand, Wren walked to one lookout balcony that gave a beautiful view of the grand entrance to the market, and leaned against the cool railing.

Solas joined her at the railing, regarding the city with an unreadable expression, before speaking softly, “The Val Royeaux market was once nothing but tents of oiled leather and mud. Filled with ragged humans selling strings of beads made of bone.”

Wren looked at him with an air of excitement, she always enjoyed when he told her about the ancient past, “You saw this in the Fade?”

He nodded, his nose twitching a little, “Yes. I left that memory quickly, though. The smell…”

Wren giggled lightly, “I’m glad it has improved, if only a little.”

Solas glanced at her with a smirk, “Oh yes, it’s much better now. I especially enjoy the frilly cakes.” With a dramatic flourish pulled something from behind his back that Wren had not noticed him hiding- a tiny box with two fancy sweetcakes in it. Her eyes lit up and she grinned at him as he handed her one, taking one for himself. He must have bought them when they were at the café!

She bumped her hip against his gently, poking a bit of fun at him, “I never took you for having a sweet tooth, Hahren.” He ‘hmmed’ in response, obviously enjoying his treat too much to interrupt it with discussion.

They stood on the balcony, enjoying their little cakes and watching the sun set over Val Royeaux, leaving the world to take care of itself, if only for a moment.

*

The four Inquisition members met back at the central square shortly after the sun had sunk below the horizon. They discussed the notes, and followed the lead to a small back courtyard in the city. The pompous man that met them was utterly convinced of his superiority, so Wren had to control a bit of a snort when the strange elf girl shot him through the face. The skirmish that followed wasn’t difficult, though it would have been much shorter if Sera had stolen their weapons instead, but after an incredibly stressful day, Wren found it nearly impossible to be upset because, well- _no breeches!_

The girl offered them a unique set of allies that Wren just hadn’t considered, as well as a rather interesting perspective on everything. The Seeker and Solas both made their opinions very obvious on the matter, but Wren could see the appeal of having some ‘little people’ on their side, keeping an ear out for whatever news they could bring. She sent the rogue off, giving her coin and an official Inquisition pass to be allowed entry into Haven (which the girl snickered at and insisted she didn’t need in order to get wherever she wanted to go).

With their business in Val Royeaux completed, the party headed back to the Renard Roux, all looking forward to a calm meal and a good night’s sleep before returning  to Haven themselves. They were thus disappointed when they were waylaid by not one, but two separate messengers. The first was a rather pompous young man, bringing news that the First Enchanter Vivienne would like them to attend a salon as her guests, where she claimed to have a proposition for them. Wren had heard of the Enchanter Vivienne, and was loathe to be in the woman’s presence. This was one of those mages who had willingly stayed in their circle when the rebellion started, even assisting the Templars in their hunt for all ‘apostates’ along the way. Not exactly a future friend of a young mage aspiring for freedom. What on earth could she offer, other than the collar of another Circle for the Herald? However, Wren knew that Josephine would be highly disappointed if they did not accept the invitation, so it seemed there would be yet another stop before they got to rest tonight.

The second was a much more surprising and promising lead- Grand Enchanter Fiona, leader of the mage rebellion. Wren had never met the woman herself, nor had she been able to get to Redcliffe where the mage stronghold was, but she had heard much about this woman from others. She was said to be fair, and incredibly protective of her fellow mages. Wren found herself a little intimidated by the woman- her magical aura strong enough to make your teeth vibrate. But this was the opportunity the Inquisition had been hoping for and a much friendlier experience than the one with the Lord Seeker. Though Cassandra seemed wary of associating with the ‘rebel mages,’ (and despite her own Herald being one of those), Solas and Wren were eager, and the elf seemed particularly interested in the Grand Enchanter’s offer.

And so, the party trudged up to the northern section of Val Royeaux, where the towering palaces and sweeping architecture denoted the land of the noble elite. Determined to keep the meeting short, Wren stayed only long enough to gain the alliance that Vivienne offered, though the woman said she would not be joining them in Haven just yet, as she had business to attend first. That wasn’t exactly disappointing to the younger mage, particularly after the woman’s stab at ‘Ferelden Dog Lords’, so she readily agreed, telling the Circle mage to take as much time as she needed.

The party didn’t return to their rooms until fairly late in the evening, and with a minor bribe to the kitchen staff, they managed to get some left over stew heated up from the earlier dinner, and some cool ale to help wash it down. They ate in silence, each mulling over the events of the day and how they would change the path of the Inquisition, or their own lives.

Templars had never been a pleasant topic for Wren, or any mage for that matter. Most Templars that guarded a circle were, if not openly hostile, at the very least indifferent towards mages. They ignored you, were above you, wanted nothing to do with you. Their duty was to guard, and that was it. What few Templars were polite, or even _friendly_ to mages (a phenomenon that Wren had never experienced personally) were rapidly moved away from the circle and assigned to other duties. War hadn’t made anything better… Wren could barely look at Cullen without getting queasy, but then again, he was a man of shared duty and barely acted like a Templar anymore. It was a bit easier to view him as a human, particularly when he had defended her so against the Chancellor. Now there was a discussion she was not looking forward to… Commander Cullen had been so set on getting assistance from the Templars. ‘ _Oh Creators… Please let him not fight me on this.’_

When the last of the food had been cleared away, the group bid goodnight to each other and went to their respective rooms. Wren had become so used to sleeping on the ground in the Hinterlands and along the road here, that it took her a very long time to fall asleep. She stayed awake, watching the spiders build webs between the beams in the ceiling and listening to the ever moving city outside. From below, in the main area of the inn, she could hear the bard singing softly:

“Maker,

Have you left me here?

Temple,

Sacred Ashes.

Tragic,

Mark upon our land.

Sky fall,

Let darkness reign on thee…”

The young mage felt tears roll down her cheek and disappear into the downy pillow below her head. How had everything come to this? How had she gone from an abandoned noble’s child in a gilded cage, to the Herald of Andreste and Thedas’ only hope for protection from a tear in the sky? She was a nobody. A tired, lonely girl from the backwaters of Ferelden, wanting a bit of freedom and a place to call home. When had it all gone so terribly wrong?

“…Breach

Into the Fade has come.

Demon,

Please spare my life

And our sons!”

*

The weary party returned to Haven, and Cassandra led Wren to the Chantry while the soldiers took care of everything else. It was important that they update the other councilors about what happened, and determine what would be their next step. Wren was not looking forward to this.

As the two entered the Chantry, they were immediately intercepted. Josephine smiled sympathetically at them, falling in step as they met with Cullen and Leliana, “It’s good you’ve returned. We heard of your _encounter_.”

Cassandra seemed surprised, “You heard?” Wren, on the other hand, knew that Leliana already had spies in the area (after all, they’d spoken with one), and was unfazed by the news. The spymaster confirmed her suspicions as she approached with Commander Cullen at her side.

The Commander crossed his arms, shaking his head slowly, “It’s a shame the Templars have abandoned their senses, as well as the Capital.”

Wren did not stop, leading the party towards the War Room. This was not a discussion she wanted to have in public, “At least we know what to expect from the Templars, and how to approach the mages now.”

Cassandra was less optimistic, “Do we? Lord Seeker Lucius is not the man I remember.”

Leliana nodded her agreement, “He has taken the Order somewhere, but to do what? My reports have been… very odd.” That did not bode well, and Wren wondered if the spy would be willing to share those reports- though that would mean the poor mage actually _speaking_ with the spymaster. Possibly alone. ‘ _I can face demons and giants holes in the sky, but I can’t face this woman alone?_ ’ the mage mocked herself, though knew that it was true.

Cullen did not seem put off by it, “We _must_ look into it. I’m certain not everyone in the Order will support the Lord Seeker.” Wren cringed, knowing that the arguing was about to start and a topic that she little wanted to discuss would be put on the table. Her stomach clenched and her heart rate increased. _‘Please, let one of the others make him see reason…’_

Josephine chimed in, thank the Maker, preventing her from having to say anything yet, “Or the Herald could simply go to meet the mages in Redcliffe, instead. They received an invite directly from Enchanter Fiona herself and Wren may know some of those present.”

Cullen stepped in front of the group halting their progress With his brow furrowed and his voice rough, he growled at them, “You think the mage rebellion is more United? It could be ten times worse!”

Wren could not hold back this time, stepping up to him and standing on her tip toes in order to get in the Commander’s face, “Oh yes, because the _mages_ were the ones who just threatened myself, the Chantry, _and_ the Inquisition, all for the glory of their crazed leader!” her had risen to nearly a yell by the time she finished, her whole body shaking violently. Tiny flames licked her fingers through her clenched fists as her magic tried to come to her aid. She suppressed it, but not before she saw the Commander’s eyes flicker towards it and back to her, fear and anger present in them.

It took her a moment to realize that the hall was completely quiet. The others stared at her in open shock. She had not lost her temper with any of them before and even during battle Cassandra hadn’t seen this kind of reaction from their usually pleasant mage. It just made Wren angrier, but it was quickly extinguished by the shame of yelling at someone who, frankly, did not deserve it. Cullen may have been a Templar at one point, but he was the Commander of the Inquisition forces now, and deserved her respect, even if they disagreed. She took a few steps back, and through clenched teeth, managed a few tight words, “I apologize. That outburst was unbecoming. When a decision has been reached, please inform me so that I may approach the chosen party.” With that, she turned and fled the hall, dignity be damned.

Before she was completely out of earshot, she heard the Commander start to call her back, when Cassandra’s voice interrupted, “Leave her be, Commander. There is more here than you realize.”

*

The best part about nightmares, well, the _only_ good part, was that when you walked around to rid your mind of them, there was no one else awake to judge you. Wren was wrapped in one of the light traveling cloaks and her camp clothes, perched on a barrel next to the stables. Her only witness, beyond the handful of guards she had passed to get here, was one old plow horse who was used mostly to clear rock fall from the road to Haven. She’d snuck out some old, withered apples from the barrels outside of the Tavern, hoping that no one would miss ones so poorly wintered. The horse didn’t mind them, and happily slobbered her hand with each slice she gave him. Her tears were mostly dry, though more because crying alone was pathetic enough, but in the dead of night in winter? Even in her state, she found it pointless.

The plow horse’s ears swiveled forward, focusing on something behind her, but since he did not spook, she knew it was safe enough. It took only a moment longer for her own ears to pick up the soft crunch of boots on gravel and snow as the person approached. They stopped a little ways away, and shuffled nervously, before clearing their throat to get her attention.

The mage glanced over her shoulder, only a little surprised to see Commander Cullen shuffling nervously behind her. She did a once over, noting the strain in his shoulders, evident only because he was lacking his usual armor in favor of warmer, more practical clothes, though he still had his fur cloak on. There were bags under his eyes and by the way his hair was ruffled, she assumed that he too had been unable to sleep restfully. ‘ _What terrors stalk our brave Commander?’_ she mused.

He shuffled a little more and looked down, rubbing the back of his neck . Taking pity, she gave him a nod of acknowledgement, “Commander.” Then returned to feeding her hooved friend- who was pleased that the interruption had ceased.

He cleared his throat again, and took a few steps forward and to her right, just into her field of vision, “Lady Trevelyan….” He seemed to cast about for how to say what he had obviously come all the way out here to say. His feet carried him forward a little further, and he unconsciously reached out to pat the horses neck and scratch his ears. Taking a deep breath, he glanced over at her, while she continued to stare only at the horse, “I wanted to apologize.” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Wren looked up sharply, her eyes locking onto his in surprise. This was… _not_ what she was expecting. A reprimand for her behavior, yes. Perhaps even a plea to ‘listen to reason’ and pursue the Templars. But an honest to Andreste apology? The Commander continued, running his fingers through his hair and shifted restlessly. “I spoke without thought earlier, and that was unfair of me. You know some of these mages and I should trust your judgement in that matter, at least. It was rash of me to criticize a group of ma- _people_ , I know little about.”  It all came out a little fast and sounded rehearsed, making the woman wonder how long he’d played this conversation in his head before seeking her out. He held her gaze a little longer, before turning it back to the horse, currently snuffling his cloak in hopes of finding hidden apples. “I was a Templar for so long, that it is… _difficult_ for me to overcome some of the prejudice instilled upon us.” This sounded more natural, and Wren relaxed a little. What a surprising man… He smiled ruefully, looking at her out of the corner of his eye, “I must admit, I little expected to be working with not one, but _two_ accomplished and interesting mages. Particularly one with such hidden fires.”

She couldn’t help the smile that snuck onto her face at his praise, turning her verbal attack on him into a compliment. His smile relaxed and became more natural in response to hers, and he stepped towards her, his brows drawing together with deep concern, “I will not ask what happened to make you hate the Templars so. I only ask that you do not paint us all with the same brush. I shall happily endeavor to do the same.” His hand drifted up, and a warm finger brushed away one of the stray tears still clinging icily to her cheek. The air was thick between them, as they studied each other. Finally, he took a couple steps back, and gave her a short bow. “Please, Lady Trevelyan, do not linger out here long. My men can protect you from demons and bandits, but not from the cold.” He stepped around her and began to walk back.

Without turning, she finally found her voice, “Comman-… Cullen?” She heard his steps pause. “I… I do not think you are like them.”

His voice was soft, but there was gratitude in it, “Thank you, my lady.”

She smiled a little to herself, “Please, call me Wren?”

There was a long pause, and she questioned if perhaps that was too informal for him, but the footsteps came closer to her, and she felt the heat of him standing behind her, “Of course. Good night… Wren.” She heard him move, and then felt a warm weight settle on her shoulders and wrap around her arms. His cloak! He moved away quickly after that, giving her no real time to react. She turned around just as he was entering the second gates into Haven. Her look of wonder turned into a soft smile, and she pulled the cloak closer to her body. It smelled like wood smoke and old vellum and just a little hint of spicy clove, and the heat of it soaked into her bones quickly. She hadn’t realized how cold she was, or how little the lightweight traveling cloak had actually been doing for her. She wrapped the heavy material around to herself, burying her face in the fur ruff and breaking out into a silly smile.

The horse nickered softly, almost sounding like a laugh, before pushing his nose against her cheek. She chuckled and playfully shoved his head away, “Hey! You can’t judge me. You like anyone that brings you _apples._ ” She looked over her should again, smiling widely. Another ally, another companion, and perhaps, another friend. What sway did nightmares have, when you were surrounded by people so willing to protect you- even if it meant the cloak off their back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just an FYI, this is where the Cullen POV starts. It is called Rise and can be found in this series folder thingy. Solas POV, called If Only, If Only, can also be found there and should be started only if you have finished Trespasser. Or already had the surprise ruined for you.


	5. From these Emerald Waters

Wren didn’t remember getting back to her cabin, but she woke early, feeling her burden had been lifted a little. The Commander’s cloak was draped on the back of the chair, and her own traveling cloak and boots were placed neatly at the foot of the bed. However, she was still dressed in her clothes from the night before.  ‘ _Did Cullen return? But then why wouldn’t he have taken his cloak?_ ’ She mulled over who could have possibly brought her inside, for surely she would remember coming in on her own. It was a mystery, but one of little importance right now. The sun was not yet fully up, so few people would be around to question her. With a small smile, she rushed to get dressed then picked up the cloak. It still smelled like him, and she couldn’t stop herself from burying her face in the thick fur one more time. Feeling that today would perhaps be better, she practically skipped out the door and up the path towards the Chantry. Josephine would have a complete fit if she found out that the _Herald_ was seen visiting the Commander’s tent at such an odd hour, so Wren thought it best to leave the _item_ in question where it would be quickly found by the _man_ in question, without raising any suspicion.

Glancing around furtively, the mage slipped inside and scuttled along the pillars to the end of the building. Seeing no one else, she carefully opened the door to the War Room and squeezed through the entrance. The candles were not yet lit, but there was flint next to the sconce beside the door. With a deft hand she struck a spark and proceeded to light the rest of the room. Based on the maps and notes on the central table, it was obvious that the councilors had been up late into the night working out the next steps for the Inquisition. Before looking at any of that, however, Wren folded the cloak in her hands and draped it over the back of the chair Cullen usually stood before. She thought about leaving a note in the pocket, but dismissed it simply because she did not know what to say.

One task complete, she turned to the war table and examined the papers to see what had been decided. After studying the maps and everything _else_ for at least twenty minutes, she came to the slow conclusion that the others had actually _not_ discussed the issue of mages and Templars at all! Instead it was mostly discussion on trade routes, diplomacy, dealing with more refugees, and a hundred other small tasks. ‘ _Were they waiting for me? That seems strange, considering how strong their opinions were…_ ’ There was no explanation, though, among the scattered papers.

As she mused further, the door opened softly, and she looked up to Leliana stepping in- both parties completely surprised to see the other in here so early. They smiled shyly at each other, and Wren tried to quell the worry that bubbled up inside of her. No, she would not question her fellow agents. They were all here to close the Breach, and that meant they needed to trust each other. Cullen had shown her that last night. “Good morning, Lady Leliana.” Wren offered quietly.

The spymaster nodded, “Good morning. I… was not expecting you to be up yet.”

Wren shrugged a little, stepping to the side so the other woman could see the papers she had been examining. “I woke up feeling rested enough. I thought I would catch up on what I missed last night after… I took my leave.”

Leliana gave her a sympathetic look, and swept a hand over the table, “As you can see, we made no decisions. _You_ are the Herald and, whether you believe it or not, we believe that _you_ should be the one to make this choice.”

That was both reassuring, and annoying. Cullen at least had implied that it was her _experience_ , not some mysticism, that allowed him to trust her decision. Either way, at least this was one less argument she would have to quell.

The spymaster picked up a letter from the table and glanced at it briefly, “There was one thing I wished to discuss with you.” She turned to the mage and explained, “Several months ago, the Grey Wardens of Ferelden _vanished_. I sent word to those in Orlais, but they have also disappeared.” Wren’s brow shot up in surprise, and she gave the woman her full attention as she continued, “Ordinarily I wouldn’t not even consider the idea they’re involved in all this, but the timing is… Curious.”

Wren nodded in agreement, “That is worrying. Do you think they truly could be involved?”

Leliana gave a delicate shrug, “The others have disregarded my suspicion, but I cannot ignore it. Two days ago, my agents in the Hinterlands heard news of a Grey Warden by the name of Blackwall. If you have the opportunity, please seek him out. Perhaps he can put my mind at ease.”

Wren worried her lip, chewing the inside a moment before asking, “What if he can’t?”

The other woman’s eyes hardened, “Then there may be more going on than we thought.”

That was an unsettling conclusion. While the Templars were at least leashed by the Chantry, the Grey Wardens were beholden to no one. They were meant to be a force that stood between all the lands and the Blight. If they were missing, that was worry enough. If they were somehow involved… Wren nodded, “If I hear anything, I will attempt to find him. I know the Hinterlands well enough; I should not have any trouble in this.”

They spent a little more time discussing the upcoming plans and changes around Haven, and by the time the bell rang for morning prayers, Wren felt much more comfortable around Leliana than she first had. There was still a worry that some less pleasant parts of her past might be dredged up, but if this woman was more distracted with important matters, it all should be safe enough.

Returning to the war room after prayer, Wren was amused when a slightly harried looking Commander Cullen strode in. His eyes focused on her immediately, looking a little panicked, before they found his cloak draped on the chair. Worry passed over his face as he glanced at Leliana, the obvious wonder on what the spymaster thought of the situation. Deciding that it was not fair to let the man fret so, Wren greeted him cordially, “Good morning, Commander. I had wondered at your absence this morning, since your cloak was _here_. Did you forget it last night?” She couldn’t help the smirk that was plastered to her face, particularly as he blushed and smiled gratefully at her, eyes darting to the preoccupied spymaster again.

“Ah, yes… I was wondering when I would see it again.” He shuffled around the older woman and picked up the cloak, clasping it around his shoulders again. With the other woman still engaged, Wren reached out and placed a light hand on his arm, “-Thank you-“ she mouthed silently. He gave her a lopsided smile and a nod, before turning to the tasks at hand.

*

While she had already decided to pursue the mages first, particularly with the invitation from the Grand Enchanter herself, Wren thought that perhaps that could wait a few days, allowing Cullen and the others to get used to the idea, and taking care of a few loose ends before adding a little more chaos into the mix. Closing the Breach was important, but the young mage did not want to rush into it all blindly. It was more important that they do this with caution and careful planning, than risk making anything worse. So, she decided to head to the Hinterlands and see about tracking down Warden Blackwall. Redcliffe was three days slow march from Haven, if one didn’t ride hard, so surely she could spend those days searching for their only lead on the Grey Wardens?

It was easier than she had anticipated. While stopping at the Crossroads settlement to check on some of the refugees, she found out that the Warden had conscripted some locals to help deal with a rash of bandits, a half days march away. Since most of the soldiers were currently busy building watch towers or establishing safer routes, there had been little time for the Inquisition to address the issue. Apparently, Warden Blackwall was taking care of it. With a general area to continue her search, Wren, Varric, Cassandra, and Solas left their escort of soldiers in the growing town to assist with anything there, while the party headed up towards the lake close to one of the outposts, in hopes of finding this man.

Warden Blackwall was an impressive looking man. When they came upon him he was instructing his nervous conscripts in using their shields, obviously preparing them for a coming battle. It wasn’t long before the bandits caught up, and Wren was a little surprised that they even attacked, considering the party now greatly outnumbered them. They were dispatched with ease, and the men released back to their lives with an obvious increase in their sense of capabilities. Impressed as she was, they were here for a reason. Blackwall seemed incredibly reluctant at first, easily offended at the implication that the Grey Wardens could be involved in the Breach or the Divine’s death, but something must have changed his mind, because just as they were leaving, he agreed to go to Haven and speak with Leliana. He even offered to assist the Inquisition, for if the Grey Wardens truly were disappearing, and not simply disbanding, that was a concern for everyone.

Pleased, Wren had the party return to the Crossroads for the night, staying at the house of the local Healer while she did the rounds for some of her more distant clients. They’d sent her with a full contingent of guards, and promised to try and find better herb stocks while they were out wandering.

Evening came and Wren saw just how improved the area was from when they’d first arrived. The budding town worked together to roast two large rams and children that had been foraging around the area all day brought the roots and nuts they had gathered, where they were crushed and baked into flavorful flatbreads to wrap the strips of meat in. There was music and laughter and a dozen different bonfires, where citizen and soldier alike enjoyed the safety and now plentiful food, thanks to the Inquisition’s efforts. The Herald wandered from fire to fire, the hood of her traveling cloak up to mask her recognizable face, and listened to the people they had helped. Here was a mage whose family had fled. There was the woman who had breathing trouble, but now had the local healer making a steady supply of potions. There was a farmer who’d lost his druffalo to demon-mad wolves.

Her companions were mingling with the people as well. Cassandra was speaking with some soldiers about any trouble in the area that was too much for them to handle and would need a heavy Inquisition force. Varric was laughing with some older men about the adventures of youth and love. Even Solas, the usually aloof and stoic elf, was speaking with a young girl that Wren recognized as the elf child from when they’d first arrived. She paused to watch them speak, the girl in complete awe as Solas told some story of a grand Fade memory, if his sweeping movements and passionate stance were any indication.

The young mage wandered to the edge of the firelight, looking out the road towards the distant Redcliffe. Tomorrow morning they would be on the road, finally going to meet her fellow mages in hopes that their alliance would mean the end of the Breach. Stars shimmered and twisted above her in the clear night sky. Her meager astronomy knowledge allowed her to navigate by their dancing light, at least here in the Hinterlands. What stars would she see, when this was all over? What would the sky hold for her, when the tear in it was gone? Would the world remember her as a holy symbol? Or would she return to being another one of the rebel apostates? Where, if not to Redcliffe, could she possibly go..?

The muffled sound of footsteps interrupted her musings, and a hand touched her shoulder. She turned, half expecting it to be Solas, but was pleasantly surprised when it was Cassandra instead. The woman smiled at her softly, and came to stand next to her and look out over the clear night sky, “What does our Herald think of, when she looks at the stars this night?” The Seeker asked softly.

Wren smiled, a little surprised by the question, but pleased to be speaking with someone she hoped to consider a friend, “She thinks of the future, and what it will hold for one young, apostate mage.” Her eyes turned back to the sky, following the short trail of a shooting star. Would her life be like that? Suddenly appearing to the whole world in a blinding flash, and then blinking out of existence just as quickly?

The warrior beside her hummed in response, her voice still gentle, “A question I have wondered myself. You have spoken, in the past, of agreeing with the rebellion.” She turned, her eyes serious as she addressed the mage, “Do you truly think that more freedom would be safe for the mages and the people around them?”

Wren knew there was no hostility meant in the question. It was a logical thing to ask, considering the history of the world. “I do. Look at the Dalish. They have no Circle, no Chantry, and no Templars to control them. Yet _they_ are not overrun by abominations. Surely there is something there, some way for us to imitate their techniques and allow mages to live freely among their people. If recent history has taught us anything, it is that even mages who understand the dangers they pose, cannot accept a gilded cage.” Wren looked down at her hand, the green flicker and crackle more noticeable at night, “I do not claim to know the solution to this, but I do know… that I- I cannot go back to the Circle. I would rather end my life in violent freedom, than exist in peaceful condemnation.”

There was a companionable silence for a time, as the two women watched the sky and contemplated the future of Thedas, and their own lives.

*

The morning broke cold, with a thick layer of frost coating everything outside of the cabins. Wren pulled her cloak around her shoulders tightly, and blinked owlishly out at the world. Her dreams had been restless that night, though she could remember little of them. There had been a winding road, crowded with people, a heavy musk of fear in the air. But the end of the dream had been soft, pleasant, gentle- though she couldn’t recall how. It was confusing and strange, but she brushed it off as too much ale and too many deep thoughts.

The little town was slowly coming awake, and as the sun climbed up, still mostly hidden by snow-capped mountains, the party packed enough supplies to get them to Redcliffe and back, and struck out on the empty road to the mage stronghold. Varric was in high spirits, and took to entertaining them with tales from his youth. Wren laughed at one particularly wicked incident that had given the dwarf a scar in a rather awkward place, and Cassandra pretended like she wasn’t listening (even if Wren could see her shoulders shaking with repressed laughter). Even Solas could not hide the smile and soft chuckle at the dwarf’s enthusiastic drama, played out on horseback in a long, empty road in the mountains.

They met little resistance on the first day, as this area was familiar to them and still heavily patrolled by Inquisition soldiers and local militia. They spent the night at one of the outposts they had helped settle, drinking ale and eating wild ram with the soldiers, listening to their stories much as they had at Crossroads.

The second day was less pleasant. This was the edge of the Inquisitions sphere of influence, and they ran into three separate battles of mages and Templars, as well as a particularly nasty rift, spewing demons of rage into the surrounding countryside. Once the creatures were dispatched, it took almost no effort for Wren to close the rift with a snap. Each one was proving more troublesome to get to because of the increase in demons, but less difficult for her to actually close. In fact, it was beginning to worry her that the Mark responded so eagerly to her now. There was hardly ever pain from it- just strong pulses of power through her arm and shoulder. Its influence seemed to be spreading, and she wondered if she should voice her concerns with Solas. Perhaps when they returned to Haven, she would discuss it with him.

When they finally made camp, it was far from any outpost of the Inquisition, but well protected in a small cave a short ways off the road. Varric and Cassandra volunteered to go out for firewood and maybe catch a nug or two for dinner, leaving Solas and Wren to set up camp. The mages cast wards first, ensuring that not only would there be warning if anyone decided to bother them, but that the cave would be difficult for outsiders to find in the first place. They had agreed that the party could use a good night’s sleep, uninterrupted by watch duties or worries, so expending the extra magic, while tiring in the short term, was to their advantage in the long run. They would arrive at Redcliffe late in the afternoon tomorrow, and since no one knew exactly what to expect, they truly need to be well rested.

With the wards set and the sleep mats laid out around a fire pit, the mages settled down to wait for the return of their companions. There had been enough loose sticks and twigs to start a small fire, and they sat side by side, watching the flames consume the dry wood.  When the whispering in her mind became too much, Wren turned to her friend, “Hahren, you said before that in order to find new places and memories in the Fade, you needed to go out and experience more of the world yourself.”

Solas regarded her curiously, nodding a little, “Yes, Dalen…”

She worried at her lip a little, brow furrowing slightly, “Is that why you joined the Inquisition? Why you stay?”

“I joined the Inquisition because of the threat of the Breach. If our enemies destroyed the world, I would have nowhere to lay my head while dreaming in the Fade.” There was a bit of playful sarcasm in his voice for the second part, but the topic was serious enough.

The younger mage nodded, feeling a little foolish for having asked, “That makes sense. The Breach is a danger to everyone, no matter where you are.”

They were quiet, listening to the fire crackle, before Solas spoke again, “In truth, I have enjoyed experiencing more of life to find more of the Fade.”

Happy that their conversation would not cease, she shifted into a more comfortable position, tucking her legs to one side of her and leaning on one arm in a comfortable lounging position, “How so?”

He lifted a hand to indicate her as a whole, “ _You_ train your Will to control magic and withstand possession. Your indomitable focus is an enjoyable side benefit.” He shifted a little so that he was leaning a bit towards her, nearly mirroring her position and seemingly just as pleased that they could continue speaking, “You have chosen a path whose steps you do not dislike, because it leads to a destination you enjoy. As have I.”

Wren couldn’t help but grin coyly at him, “Indomitable focus?” It had been an interesting choice of words.

He smirked, mischief dancing behind his eyes. “Presumably. I have yet to see it dominated.” He paused, his eyes flickered over her face and body and his voice dropped to an almost husky growl, “I imagine the sight would be… fascinating.” He chuckled darkly, and it sent a shiver straight down Wren’s spine, pooling heat low in her stomach. His eyes dilated and his grin pulled wider until it was almost predatory. Her mouth became dry and something deep in her stirred awake to answer his unspoken challenge.

A sudden flash of light and a yelp of pain from the mouth of the cave broke the spell, with both mages grabbing for their staffs and leaping to their feet. Varric sat at the entrance of the cave, looking a little crispy and surprised, while the usually serious Seeker was laughing so hard that she had to grip the walls of the cave to hold her up.

The mages grinned at each other sheepishly, and Wren could feel a deep blush blooming across her cheeks. Solas chuckled again, though more lightly, “I suppose we know that your Wards work, Da’ean.”

It took her a moment to realize that he hadn’t called her da’len this time, but something new. She tipped her head to the side and was about to ask, but Varric called to them for help, cursing them for not waiting to draw the wards until they had returned- or at least warning them. Laughing, the mages got the shaken dwarf to his feet and helped the still giggling Cassandra bring in their catch to prepare for dinner.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this chapter is a bit shorter, but it was a good place to end it as I wanted all of Redcliffe to be in one (maybe two) chapters. Lots of non-cannon here, some cute Cullen fluff, and a bit of sexual tension at the end of the chapter from our favorite egg. *eyebrow waggle*   
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy this!


	6. With all Their Twisted Magic

The morning broke with unseasonably warm weather and very humid air. The party, despite having a good night’s sleep, all woke a little grumpy and sticky. So when the first thing they came across after breaking camp was a Maker-be-damned Rift… It was a small one, only a few little nasties to banish before closing, but it did not bode well for the day. An hour of hiking in war-torn terrain, and they had to dispatch, not one, not two, but _four_ groups of bandits and renegades. By the time they reached the road just outside of Redcliffe, the party was tired, barely speaking, and covered in blood. It didn’t help that it had rained in the area the night before, so there were puddles everywhere and their boots were soaked in muddy water.

It wasn’t a group of waiting mages that greeted them in the late afternoon, but a running guard and another damned Rift. Generally, Wren didn’t believe in omens- good or bad- but this was a bit much for her. Even Solas was scowling at the Rift, as if it were to blame for all their bad luck today.

The Redcliffe soldiers scattered shouting as they ran past, “Watch-out travelers! The veil is ripped open and Maker knows what could pour out!” Fate laughed, and dropped a few demons in their midst just to show them what it could do. ‘ _Lovely.’_ Wren groused with a snarl.

They were expecting a normal battle, but almost immediately the party noticed something incredibly strange. There were areas, like little pools, where time seemed to slow down or speed up. It was disconcerting to see, and even more disorienting to experience. Wren got caught in one with a particularly nasty wraith, and struggled as the world around her seemed to slow. She could see people moving outside of her little circle at an incredibly fast pace, but her own world dragged by. It was distracting, and when long claws suddenly reached up from the ground, she was almost grateful to be flung backwards, out of the strange bubble. It knocked the wind from her, though, and she felt something crack in her chest. A bright flash of blue light settled around her, and the familiar sensation of Solas’ barrier spell gave her the needed willpower to get up and fight again. The Herald pushed past the pain in her side and helped finish off the last of the beasts before flinging her hand up to close the Rift. It was a struggle, and she could feel it pushing back against her a moment before finally snapping shut. The pools of time faded with the closing, and the party breathed a collective sigh of relief.

“What was _that_?” Wren wondered aloud.

Cassandra came up next to her, crouching to examine the now empty area where one of the pools had been. “We don’t know what these Rifts can do. That one appeared to alter the time around it!”

“Maker have mercy! It’s over- open the gates!” One of the guards shouted from behind a tree. Redcliffe’s heavy iron gate slowly pulled up, and with some trepidation, the party walked through.

Wren couldn’t help but look back towards where the Rift had been, her voice dropping so that only her party would hear her, “There are many mages in Redcliffe. Maybe Fiona will know what is going on.”

As they passed through the gate, one of Leliana’s men approached them with a cautious look, “We spread word the Inquisition was coming, but you should know, no one here was expecting us.”

Everyone shuffled nervously and Wren shook her head, “No one? Not even the Grand Enchanter?”

The man shrugged, “If she was, she hadn’t told anyone else.” The party looked at each other, eyes wide and confused. What was going on here? The spy continued, “We have arranged the use of the Gull and Lantern Tavern for the negotiations.”

Before he could continue, an elf, obviously a mage himself, ran up to them, slightly out of breath, “Agents of the Inquisition, my apologies!” He stopped to give them a slight bow, “Magister Alexius is in charge now, but hasn’t yet arrived. He is expected shortly.” The word _magister_ elicited gasps and grunts of surprise from those behind her as Wren tried to take it in. “You can speak to the former Grand Enchanter in the meantime!”

With no small amount of hesitation, they continued forward. It was obvious that Redcliffe was in the process of recovery, but there were dozens of people wandering around, hauling carts and repairing walls. The hairs on the back of the young mages neck stood on end, feeling like she was just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Solas stepped up to her side, his voice barely audible above the din, even with his arm brushing against hers, “The Veil is weaker here than in Haven, and not merely weak, but _altered_ in a way I have not seen. Be careful, da’len.” His eyes found hers, and she saw deep concern in them.

Cassandra seemed less perturbed by his statement than by the current situation, “We will ask the Grand Enchanter about it, _when we get there._ ” It was a not so subtle hint to get moving.

Each face they passed, Wren could not help the hopeful swoop in her stomach. She knew Curt hadn’t survived. Maker, did she know that…He had been next to her from the moment they arrived in Haven until they went up to the Temple to begin the Conclave; unwilling to let her out of his sight, unwilling to let anyone near her that even remotely resembled a Templar. The others though… Some of them had stayed behind. Maybe they were here! But every face that looked at her was a stranger’s. The further into town they went, the less hope she had left.

The town was full of activity, and while Wren had expected a lot of mages, _the number_ of them was incredibly surprising! It seemed like nearly everyone they passed had an aura of magic about them. She saw people using their magic to repair buildings or bring in the day’s catch from the docks. It was shocking to see its use so openly, and with no snide remarks or glowering Templars guarding them! _This_ was what she wanted for her fellow mages: the freedom to live a normal life. What she didn’t want, however, was the fearful atmosphere that was so heavily present. People watched them pass with only quick glances or openly gaping mouths.

Cassandra led them through the winding roads and shallow stairs, obviously knowing where to go. It wasn’t until they passed a stone carved griffin that anyone called out to them.

“Sidas!” a deep voice boomed across the crowd.

Wren’s head snapped to the direction of the voice. Beaming at her from across the square was someone she was sure she’d never see again, but his towering height and beautifully dark skin were unmistakable. With a shout of pure joy, she dashed through the people and flung herself at the man who stood with his arms out, ready to catch her. He swung her around in a circle before setting her down and holding her so tightly to his chest that she should have felt the pain of her cracked ribs, if her heart wasn’t overflowing with joy and sorrow. They cried into each other’s necks, bodies  tightly pressed together and their heartbeats fluttering against each other’s ribs, oblivious of the world around them. “Ma Sorora, ma sorora…” He kept whispering it over and over, one arm wrapped possessively around her waist, the other tangled in her hair. She just laughed and cried and blubbered pitifully in his arms, unable to release the death grip she had around his neck and shoulders.

It took a long time for them to calm, and when she finally opened her eyes and pulled back a little, she smiled up at the man that had been her brother in the Circle. “Dinall…Sunt vivento.” Tears still ran down her cheeks, and she feared that they would never stop.

He laughed softly and swiped at them with a thumb before cupping her cheek in his larger hands, “I am, ma sorora. I thought _you_ were… were…I-I was told no one from the Conclave survived.” Weeks of worry and fear choked his voice, and she rushed to comfort him with a kiss to the cheek and whispered words of reassurance. He did not lift his head from her shoulder again, even when he asked in a strained whisper, “Are you the only one, then?” She nodded, unable to speak past the knot her tongue had made.

They were interrupted by a politely amused cough, and Wren brought herself back to the present. Barely willing to look away from him, she released her brother and took his hand, dragging him over to where her companions waited. The smile on her face was radiant as she introduced them, “Dinall, these are my companions, Seeker Cassandra, Varric Tethras, and Solas.”

He bowed to each of them, “I am honored to meet each of you.”

“Dinall was part of the Ostwick Circle with me.” Wren said carefully, suddenly unsure of how the others would react. After all, this was yet another apostate mage…

Varric, unsurprisingly, was the first to step forward and shake the man’s hand, “Well, if the Boss trusts you, then I guess I don’t have a reason not to.” Dinall glanced curiously at Wren at the mention of ‘Boss,’ but the younger mage gave a little shrug and wave, indicating they would speak of it later.

Cassandra examined him with less confidence, “You are Tevinter?” Wren’s heart sank a little. It was one of the first things anyone noticed. Particularly since, despite having a Marcher accent, he spoke the language of his home fluently.

Dinall rubbed the back of his head, looking uncomfortable, “I’m about as Tevinter as Sidas is, honestly. While technically my family is from there, I grew up in the Marches and was given to the Chantry before I could properly talk. Once my magic came, it was straight into the Circle.”

The Seeker nodded, apparently satisfied, “That explains the lack of Tevinter accent.” And shook his hand freely.

Wren looked to Solas, expecting him to readily take her brother’s hand, but his face was a mask of indifference and he did not even look at them. “While I’m sure this is momentous for you, Herald, the Grand Enchanter is waiting for us.” Wren felt a sharp stab of hurt at his cold tone and use of her title. He had not used it except in jest for some weeks now. Why the sudden change?

Dinall distracted her, however, “Herald? Enchanter Fiona? What is going on, Sidas?”

Wren waved her hand away, swallowing the emotion that threatened to overwhelm her again, “Later, lethallan. Do you remember how to get to Haven?” she asked with urgency. Dinall nodded, so she spoke quickly while digging around for her coin purse and handing him the entire thing, “Hire a cart and some guards and get there. Tell them that Lady Trevelyan sent you then ask for Lady Montilyet. Tell her you were part of my Circle and that I wished for you to have quarters in the Chantry. You know how to play politics, so be careful. Until I return, they may not trust you.” She took his hands in hers, kissing their knuckles but no longer smiling up at him, “Non perdam te, Dinall.” She hated to cut their reunion so short, but they had a job to do, and it might not be safe to have him hanging around.

He studied her face, brow furrowed  with confusion at her behavior, but accepted it with another nod, “Alright, Sidas. I expect a very _detailed_ explanation when you return.” He gave the rest of the party another polite bow, and left them quickly to do as she’d asked.

_‘Watch over him, Creators. Protect him, Maker. He’s all I have left.’_

*

The meeting with Grand Enchanter Fiona did not… go as planned. First, she seemed completely shocked that the Inquisition was even there. Then she dropped the bomb that not only was Alexius a Magister, but the mages had actually allied with _Tevinter_. While Wren held no prejudice against the people (obviously, for Dinall was a brother to her), it was another thing completely to be allied with the corrupt government of the place! Fiona, though not outright saying anything against the alliance, seemed incredibly uncomfortable speaking about it.

Before they could pry too far, however, Magister Alexius himself made an appearance. The man simply oozed Tevinter corruption, and out of the corner of her eye, Wren could see even Solas suppressing a snarl. Every second he spoke made it more and more difficult for her companions to stay silent, but they let Wren take the lead in the conversation. She stayed calm, hoping that they were being hasty to judge him. Hope was a delicate thing, however, and when he started to speak of the mages joining his _legion_ , Fiona became very upset. He silenced her with a growl of a response, but that had been enough for Wren. Something very wrong was going on here. She played her part well, waiting to see what evidence she could dredge up about his true motives.

When Felix collapsed into her, however, her suspicions were confirmed. He managed to distract his father and those in his retune, while passing her a note, asking her to meet him in the Chantry, and warning her that she was in danger here.

Knowing that the distraction was meant for them to take advantage of, Wren and the party rushed to the Chantry, prepared for anything once they went inside. Well- anything except for the Rift that was spewing demons and distorting time. Or the _very_ handsome mage who was fighting said demons.

“Good! You’re finally here! Now help me close this, would you?” the mage asked with a heavy Tevinter accent. _‘No wonder the people didn’t give Dinall a second glance. This place is covered in Vints._ ’There was little time to dwell on it, though. Shades and Wraiths flashed into the world and the party set to work. The cramped quarters of the Chantry made it nearly impossible to fight well, and forced both Solas and Wren to stay near the door and avoid their more powerful spells, lest they inadvertently bring down the roof. This new man was an amazing fighter, and his form was not just perfect, it was beautifully executed. She couldn’t help grinning as she watched him battle, his cutting remarks to the demons all the more amusing.

When the last of their enemies was sucked back into the Fade and the Rift dispersed, the Tevinter turned to her in admiration. “Fascinating! How does that work exactly?” he asked, waving his hand at the Mark.

Wren chewed her lip, not sure how to really explain it, and the mage laughed, “Haha, you don’t even know, do you? You just wiggle your fingers and Boom! Rift closes.”

She couldn’t help the smile that crossed her face, “Who are you?”

“Ah!” He clapped his hands, “Getting ahead of myself again, I see.” He dipped into a dramatic bow before her, “Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous. How do you do?”

Cassandra growled from behind them, “ _Another_ Tevinter. Be cautious with _this_ one.”

Dorian smiled brightly at the Seeker (who squinted back at him with pursed lips), “Suspicious friends you have here!” His voice became a little more serious as he turned back to Wren, however, “Magister Alexius was once my mentor, so my assistance should be valuable- as I’m sure you can imagine.”

Wren looked around a little, gnawing on her lip, torn between being entertained by this man and listening to her companion, “I was expecting Felix to be here.”

Dorian nodded, looking over her shoulder to the Chantry door, “I’m sure he’s on his way. He was to give you the note, then meet us here after ditching his father.”

She studied him closely, taking note of any detail she could to ask Dinall about later, “Why would you betray your mentor?”

His face became serious, “Alexius _was_ my mentor. Meaning he’s not any longer, not for some time.” He took a step closer, “Look, you must know there’s danger. That should be obvious, even without our note. To start with, Alexius stole the allegiance of the mage rebels out from under you. As if by magic, yes?” Wren nodded. It was a curiosity she had intended to discuss with her companions, along with Fiona’s apparent amnesia. “Exactly right. To reach Redcliffe before the Inquisition, Alexius distorted _time itself_.”

It made sense to Wren, even if it seemed impossible. “He arranged it to arrive just after the Divine died.”

Dorian smiled and tipped his head, “You catch on quick.”

Solas spoke, the first time since Dinall left, with the contempt that had been present only at the beginning of their adventures, “That is fascinating, if true… and almost certainly dangerous.” The implication that he wanted more evidence was practically visible in his words.

Dorian, to his credit, did not get ruffled, “The Rift you closed here? You saw how it twisted time around itself- sped some things up and slowed others down.” They all nodded, remembering also the Rift in front of Redcliffe. “Soon, there will be more like it, and they’ll appear further and further away from Redcliffe. The magic Alexius is using is wildly unstable, and it’s unraveling the world.” He finished dramatically, though if he was correct, it _was_ actually fairly dramatic.

‘ _Why couldn’t this be easy? Just a simple, “Hi! We’re the Inquisition! Help us close the giant gaping hole in the sky, yes? Great! See you in Haven.”_ ’ Wren shook her head, looking at the ground and mulling over what Dorian had told them so far.

Varric piped up from the back, “You are asking us to take a lot on faith.”

The mage glared at the dwarf, his voice getting a dangerous edge. “I know what I’m talking about. I helped _develop_ this magic.” Dorian mused out loud about Alexius’ motives, but Wren was distracted by the entrance of their only other known ally in Redcliffe. It seemed that Felix knew the motive behind his father’s use of dangerous, experimental magic: the Venatori, and a strange obsession with Wren herself. They discussed the possible motivations for a time, but couldn’t get any further without more information.

Dorian interrupted their conversation, “I can’t stay in Redcliffe to find out. Alexius doesn’t know I’m here, and I want to keep it that way for now. But, whenever you’re ready to _deal_ with him, I want to be there.” He growled dangerously, his own grudge against the Magister obvious. “I’ll be in touch.” With a final dip of his head, he turned and left out one of the side doors.

Felix turned back to them, a sad smile on his lips, “I am sorry that I could not get you a message earlier. My father is very protective of me, and very determined. By the time I heard you were coming, it was too late for me to do anything but wait. I was lucky Dorian was here as well.”

Wren gave him a small smile in return, “I am grateful for what information you have already given us.”

Felix lifted a hand to indicate the Chantry doors, walking with them until they were almost leaving, “ _I_ am the one who is grateful. My father was once a kind, intelligent man. There is a hand here that I cannot see, and I fear not only losing my father, but all of Thedas.”

*

Their return to Haven was fairly uneventful by comparison. They rode hard, pushing the horses so that it only took them a day and a half to get back. Tired, and disturbed by what they had just experienced, they spoke little, even once they reached their destination, late in the evening. After dealing with Cassandra’s sharp tongue and Solas’ steady silence, Varric opted to head straight for the tavern, and Wren promised to join him later, after she had checked to see that Dinall had arrived safely.

That seemed to be the only silver lining to their adventure, really- Dinall’s return. Her heart raced as she rushed into the Chantry and straight to Josephine’s office. It would be easier to determine where he’d been quartered by going to the source, rather than run around the camp all night searching.

She was a little surprised when, after being given permission to enter the ambassador’s office, a pair of strong arms lifted her up and twirled her around the room briefly, the familiar laughter of Dinall and Josephine filling the air. Wren grinned widely as her feet touched the ground again, and she stood on her toes to kiss his cheek, “Fratrem! I am glad to find you here!”

The ambassador stood and walked around her desk, placing a hand on Dinall’s arm, “Your friend was concerned on when you would return, so when I got news that you were nearly here, I invited him to wait with me. He has been telling me the most _interesting_ stories, Herald!” the woman’s eyes twinkled with merriment, and Wren lightly smacked Dinall’s chest as he smirked down at her.

“What have you been telling her?”

He just laughed loudly, pulling her against his chest and kissing the top of her head, “Nothing _too_ embarrassing, Sidas. Just something to give her a more _human_ outlook on the ‘Herald of Andreste.’”

Wren groaned dramatically at that, a part of her wishing that _she_ had been the one to explain that too him, but also grateful to Josephine for taking care of what would have been a particularly painful conversation. “Ugh, alright, alright. But I’m taking you away from here before you start to talk about the _truly_ horrifying stories from our youth.”

Dinall grinned and leaned towards Josephine, “Remind me, Lady Montilyet, to tell you about how our Herald nearly caused Senior Enchanter Brethen to have a heart failure.”

Yelping, Wren dragged him out of the room, waving to Josephine over her shoulder, “Goodnight!”

Her circle brother followed willingly enough, keeping her hand locked tightly in his as she led him out of the Chantry and along the winding paths of Haven. Wren led them to her cabin, ignoring the salacious looks they were receiving from some of the folk milling about because right now, she didn’t care. All that mattered was spending some time with the only person left in the world that saw her as just… Wren.

Once inside, he swooped down on her and picked her up, one arm behind her shoulders, the other under her knees. Giggling, she clung to his neck as he carried them over to the bed.  Without putting her down, he sat on the edge and scooted over, laying down so that he lay on his side and cradled her to his chest. His nose buried itself in her hair, and he breathed deeply, as if having to reassure himself that she was actually real.

“Ma sorora… I truly thought you lost to me forever.” He said gruffly, his chest rumbling under her ear.

She snuggled deeper into him, closing her eyes and letting his heat sink into her. “Fratrem, you almost did lose me. I… I thought you had come with us to the Temple?” It was a question that had worried her.

He sighed, “I was supposed to, and, as you know, I made it most of the way up with you. But one of the Senior Enchanters had forgotten his potion, Methalis? You know how he is- was… Anyway, he’d left it here in Haven and asked me to go back and fetch it for him. I was Just leaving the Chantry when…when…” He couldn’t seem to finish, but pulled her closer and wrapped himself more tightly around her. They lay like this for a long time, neither willing to talk anymore and both desperate for the close contact they had missed so much.

Finally Dinall started squirming, and Wren chuckled, knowing that mean that something, likely the arm under her, had fallen asleep. She slipped out of his grasp and stood up, letting him groan and stretch and shake out the arm in question. He smiled at her, brushing her hair from her face before sighing and standing up as well, “So, is the Tavern still as awkward to sit around in, or are the patrons a little more accepting of mages with their Herald being one?”

She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help the smile on her lips, “They tolerate mages, particularly since there are now three of us that run about all of Thedas, ensuring they have clothing and plenty of ale.”

His laughter was wonderful to hear again, and he slung his arm over hers shoulder and led them back outside, “Then let us try the ale and their patience.”

The Tavern was not as full as it had been in the past, thanks in part to the late hour and the rest to the soldiers who were still down at the Crossroads. Dinall left her side to go order drinks, while Wren waved over her dwarven companion.

Varric sidled up to her, grinning goofily, “Soooo, _Sidas_ , you never mentioned _him_ before.” He nudged her hip suggestively while nodding over to where Dinall leaned on the bar counter.

Confused, she looked down at him, “Wha- OH! VARRIC!” He laughed and dodged a playful kick she aimed at him. “It’s not like that! Dinall was from Ostwick. More than that, he was part of _my_ Circle. We grew up together. _He’s_ more like my family than the _Trevelyan’s_ are.”

Varric laughed as the group continued on, “Uh-huh. _Family…_ ”

Wren wrinkled her nose at him, smiling a little again, “He’s like my brother, Varric. Besides, I’m not his _type_.” She giggled at the thought, but was unwilling to say anything further on it.

Varric gave her a confused look, but shrugged, “If you say so, _Sidas_.”

She bopped his chest and stuck her tongue out at him, before pushing his shoulders along to a table that was being vacated in the corner. Dinall joined them not long after, observant enough to have brought three mugs rather than just two. “So Master Dwarf, I wanted to ask you about that crossbow I saw you carrying in Redcliffe.”

Varric grinned, eager to talk about his pride and joy. “Bianca? Ya, she’s one of a kind.”

The conversation was easy and companionable. They stayed away from serious topics, all following the unspoken desire to relax, if only for tonight.

*

Dinall stayed with Wren that night, mostly because she was too drunk to walk back on her own, but also because neither of them wanted to be apart from the other just yet. In the Circle, they had shared a room with the other apprentices until their Harrowings, where they would have been separated. But When the rebellions started and the Templars began… _harassing_ the mages… Her little clan had insisted on staying together, more particularly in _her_ room. When Ostwick’s tower fell and they fled to the Hinterlands, it was no different. Three years they spent together. Three years falling asleep to the sounds of the others. Three years of piling together in front of a fire for warmth and comfort. It was not a habit so easily forgotten.

When morning came, Wren was grateful for his presence. While she rarely remembered her dreams anymore, she knew that she often had nightmares, if the sweat-soaked sheets were any indication. Having him there seemed to keep her mind calm, even in sleep. Dinall still slept, snoring loudly and hogging most of the bed, but Wren didn’t have the heart to wake him. She left a note, telling him to make himself useful around the camp, perhaps helping Josephine, while she tended to some business. He’d be a bit cross at her, but understanding. Out of everyone in their little group, he was probably the most mature, behind Curt. It wouldn’t be long before he’d weaseled his way into the hearts of most of the people here.

Changing into some less… trail-stained clothing, Wren left the warm comfort of her cabin and softly closed the door behind her. Breakfast was her first order of business, but after that she’d need to find one of the inner circle to determine when they would be meeting and discussing the happenings of Redcliffe. Cassandra would have told them much last night, but she knew they would want her report as well.

After enjoying the perks of a fully cooked meal, it didn’t take the young mage long to find one of the leaders- one Commander Cullen, shouting instructions to some new recruits on the training field. Determined to keep the good mood she’d woken up in, Wren walked up to him once he’d finished shouting a bit, and smiled, “Busy as always, Commander?”

He looked over his shoulder at her, a nod of his head in greeting, “We’ve received a number of recruits- locals from Haven and some pilgrims.” A smile tugged at his lips, “None made _quite_ the entrance you did.”

Morning banter was always a good way to start, “At least I got everyone’s attention.”

He chuckled, and Wren felt a bit of a girlish blush grace her cheeks, “That you did.” He signaled for her to follow him while he walked down the row off training fighters, “I was recruited to the Inquisition in Kirkwall, myself. I was there during the mage uprising- I saw firsthand the devastation it caused.” He paused to take a report from a runner, signing his name on something after a quick glance. “Cassandra sought a solution. When she offered me a position, I left the Templars to join her cause.” He handed the note back to the runner, letting the man continue his business. “Now it seems we face something far worse.”

Wren nodded, watching the intricate dance two of the fighters were performing, “With the Conclave destroyed and the Breach hanging over everyone’s head…The future isn’t looking good.”

He nodded, “Which is why we are needed. The Chantry lost control of both mages _and_ Templars. Now they argue over a new _Divine_ while the Breach remains.” His voice was gaining passion, and he was gesturing a little more as he spoke, “The Inquisition could _act_ when the Chantry cannot. Our followers would be _part_ of that! There so much we can-“ he stopped, and sighed ruefully, shaking his head, “Forgive me. I doubt you came here for a lecture.”

Before her mind could filter it, she said the first thing that rolled off her tongue, “No, but if you have one prepared, I’d love to hear it.”

He laughed softly, “Another time perhaps.” She smiled, looking up at him through her eyelashes. His polite smile turned into a goofy grin, and he seemed to stumble over his words a bit, “I, ah…” she waited, and his voice dropped, “There’s still a lot of work ahead.” He said in earnest.

“Commander. Ser Rylen has a report on our supply lines.”

He shook his head and held a hand out towards the messenger, “As I was saying.”

She laughed with him and followed him back towards the command tent. “Before I let you return to your duties, Commander, do you know when the incidents at Redcliffe will be discussed?”

“Ah, yes.” His brow furrowed a little, “Leliana is waiting on a return messenger, but she expects to be ready by this afternoon.”

Wren gave him a tiny bow, and took her leave, knowing she’d have a little time to speak with the Healer and perhaps even check in with Blackwall- see if the Warden had been able to find anything out yet.

*

“I _am_ going with you.”

“No. You are _not_.”

“Kaffas! Do not argue with me on this!”

Wren threw up her hands and spun away from her friend. Dinall had caught wind that she was leaving in the morning, and had refused to leave her side since then, insisting that she shouldn’t go into a known trap. When that had failed, he demanded that he go with her. This had been going on for hours now, and Wren was getting thoroughly aggravated by his persistence.

The meeting with the inner circle had been bad enough. The bickering was particularly harsh when Cullen’s prejudice against mages started to surface, and she’d been about ready to throw the nearest heavy object at his head when he said that they needed to protect her because her mark was the only thing that could close the Rifts. But when he’d said that he wouldn’t allow it, her going into danger, her heart melted at the look he’d given her. Josephine and Leliana had noticed the change in the Commander’s demeanor and seemed ready to swoon, but Cassandra simply marched through the conversation, oblivious, but earning Wren’s gratitude. It had been decided that the spymaster would send men ahead, but that Wren _had_ to answer the summons if they were to get to the bottom of this and still recruit the mages.

Now here she was, trying to pack her bags and clean her armor, with Dinall holding her boots above her head and refusing to return them until she agreed to his demands. She slammed her hands on the table before the window, her back to him while she shook with frustration.

Everything was silent for a moment, then Dinall sighed, and a tentative hand touched her shoulder. She melted a little, her smaller fingers brushing over his. He stepped close to her, wrapping his arms around her from behind and burying his face in her hair. “I cannot lose you again, Sorora. If anything happens to you… Meum est sin sensa .”

Turning in his arms, she lifted his face with her hands until he was looking into her eyes, “Non perdam _te_ , Dinall.” She repeated his sentiment, “We will go together.” She relented, “But you must stay at the Inquisition camp outside Redcliffe. It will be hard enough to walk into that place with two people, much less three. Dorian will be meeting us there as well, so I am not without protection.” She searched his eyes for some acceptance, before he finally gave her a reluctant nod. “Good. With any luck, we will have an army of mages coming back here with us. I could use a peacekeeper to prevent them from picking fights.” She gave him a lopsided smile, and a kiss on the cheek, before releasing him. “Now go to the Chantry. Josephine has prepared a room there for you and I’m sure will have a mountain of work for you to help her with. She _nearly_ raised her voice at me when she found out you’d stayed here last night.”

The older mage grinned at her, “Oh, I’m sure the ambassador was completely _scandalized_!” He laughed heartily, but acquiesced and, with a parting hug, left her to finish packing.

*

Redcliffe was different today. There were fewer civilians, and more _intimidating_ looking mages lingering along the walkways. Wren guessed that these were likely the Venatori that Felix had warned them about, and she tried not to tense up when they passed any of them.

Cassandra would not take her hand off her sword, and even Solas was unusually tense. After they passed a particularly ominous group of mages, he spoke to Wren in a low, strained voice, “I am surprised that your fellow Circle mage did not come with you. He seems very protective.”

Glancing back at him in confusion, Wren shrugged, “Isa'ma'lin wanted to come, but he is not as good at battle magics as you are, nor does he have the stomach for them. I love him dearly, but I would rather have someone I trust to keep me alive, than someone who will throw up at the first sign of blood.”  She turned back to the path, and Solas did not say anything further, though he did seem to walk a little closer to her.

When they entered the grand hall, masked guards halted the party, glaring at her companions. The page of the Magister cleared his throat, making a pointed statement by remaining silent around them. Wren was not in the mood to deal with this today. “ _Announce us._ ” She snarled.

He coughed nervously, “The invitation was for you only, Lady Trevelyan. They will have to stay behind.”

She felt her companions close ranks behind her, and took comfort in Solas’ unyielding presence. “Where I go, they go.”

After a moment’s hesitation and a curt nod, he led them up the stairs and through a set of intricate doors, announcing them to his master. Alexius was seated in a throne-like chair, before a roaring fireplace with masked guards all around the hall. It was all very dramatic, meant to intimidate her, she knew, but she was heartened by the presence of Felix, knowing that it meant Dorian was nearby, as planned.

The Magister rose to meet them, smiling with more teeth than made Wren comfortable, “My friend! It is so good to see you again. And your… _associates_ , of course. I’m sure we can work out some arrangement that is equitable to _all_ parties.”

Fiona stepped up, her voice full of disdain, “Are we mages to have no voice in deciding our fate?” Wren wasn’t sure if she was against joining with the Inquisition, or simply objected to the Tevinter taking away her right to make any choice.

“Fiona, you would not have turned your followers over to my care if you did not trust me with their lives.” Magister Alexius dismissed, returning to his chair with no further acknowledgement of the former leader. His attention returned to Wren, his voice a little less syrupy. “The Inquisition needs mages to close the Breach, and I have them. So, what shall you offer in exchange?”

Wren had no interest in playing cat and mouse with this man, so she took a menacing step forward, “I would _much_ rather discuss your _time_ magic.”

There was a flicker in his eye, and for a moment she wondered if he was going to drop the pretense, however, he smiled benignly at her instead, “I’m afraid I have no idea what you mean.”

Felix stepped forward, his voice tired and gentle, “She knows _everything_ , Father.”

The mask dropped and he turned back to snarl at Wren. He began ranting at her, and it took everything she had to keep her composure. Everything he was saying settled deep into her bones. She’d known the Mark was no holy thing, but to be called a _mistake_ , an _accident_ , was painful. It held deeper meaning for her and she had to hide a flinch each time he said it. Dorian’s dramatic entrance at least turned some of the Magister’s ire away from her and onto the Tevinter ally, but it did not help decrease the tension. She had hoped that they could walk out of here without a fight, but as tempers escalated, Alexius commanded his Venatori to seize them.

Wasn’t he surprised when they collapsed instead, dead at the feet of the spymaster’s soldiers. ‘ _Good timing, Leliana._ ’

“Your men are dead, Alexius.” Wren walked forward to stand beside Dorian.

He snarled at her, his magic crackling along his skin, “ _You_ are a _mistake._ “ He hissed. “You should never have existed!” his hand raised and in it glowed a strange amulet. Dorian seemed to recognize what it was, because his reaction was instant. He cast a spell at the Magister, but whatever he had been doing caused a flash of green and a thunderous roar in her ears, before Wren felt like she was sucked forward into the abyss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> …Yay?  
> Anyways, a bit of fluff, some angsty/jealous Solas, a friend from the Circle, and all the other fun of Redcliffe! Hope you enjoyed!  
> I used about twenty different sources for my Elvhen and Tevinter, but my main source for Elvhen is our own, lovely, amazing FenxShiral, right here on AO3. Please check out their whole translation/lexicon/amazingness. I'm sure I'll get things wrong at some point and someone will yell at me, but I'm doing my best!  
> Translations will always be at the bottom of the page, so that it doesn’t ruin anything.
> 
> Tevinter:  
> Please forgive the poorly used Latin, since there aren’t a lot of resources for how it is supposed to be changed to match the Tevinter language. I had to take a few liberties, though really, I mostly just stuck with raw. If anyone has suggested changes, I’d be happy to listen!  
> Sidas- Star/ my Star  
> Ma Sorora- My sister  
> Sunt vivento.- You are alive.  
> Non perdam te.- I won’t lose you again.  
> Fratrem- Brother  
> Meum est sin sensa .- My life is without meaning.
> 
> Elvhen:  
> Lethallan- my blood, clansmen, family, etc  
> Isa'ma'lin- brother, my brother


	7. This Darkened Time Breaks

Her boots hit water first, then solid stone. She wasn’t jarred, like she’d fallen or jumped, but she felt the sudden impact just the same. Staggering, she fell against another body, Dorian, reeling like her, and grabbed a fistful of fabric to steady herself. The sound of someone running in the shallow water pulled their attention forward, as two soldiers came barreling through barred doorways, “Blood of the Elder One! Where’d they come from?!” One of the heavily armored men shouted.

Wren had every intention of asking them the same thing, when the soldiers attacked. Surprised, she staggered to the side just in time to let the sweep of the sword miss her ribs. Dorian was already throwing fireballs at them, not as cautious as she about attacking obviously hostile people. He dodged away from them, and Wren cast a hasty barrier spell to give him aid. Then she made an incredibly risky move in such cramped quarters, and chained lightning between the guards- despite the knee deep water. The guards fell, unconscious or dead mattered little right now, and the pair still standing took the chance to look around.

Great jutting formations of red, glowing crystal rose from the corners and the floor. It pulsed and rippled, and she could hear strange whispers when she got close to it. The chamber they were in was obviously part of a prison complex, but…

“Displacement… Interesting…” Dorian mused, looking around with calm curiosity, “Be careful, Herald, that is Red Lyrium you stand near. It does not play well with others.”

Wren gave a wry smile, remembering Varric’s less playful warning, and stepped back. “Displacement?”

Dorian nodded, “I doubt it is what Alexius intended, but the Rift must have _moved_ us… But where…?”

Thinking of the lyrium, Wren shrugged, “The closest confluence of arcane energy? We stood just a moment ago in the castle hall.”

The Tevinter gave her a surprised smile, “Indeed. Hm. If we stood in the castle it isn’t… Oh! Of course!” the mage laughed excitedly, “It’s not simply where- it’s when!” Suddenly Wren felt like this wasn’t something to sound so pleased over. “Alexius used the amulet as a focus. It moved us _through_ time!”

She looked around with a new interest, slowly moving out of the current room and into the larger, connecting chamber, “Through time… That sounds much less pleasant than simply through space…”

Dorian followed, dropping his voice so they might not be overheard, “Depending on _when_ we are and what happened while we were away… yes, it sounds terrible.”

Fear, like an iron lump, sat heavily in her stomach. Red lyrium sprouted from everywhere- inside cells, out of statues, in the middle of a chair or wall. It was difficult to avoid it, but she wondered if it even mattered. The water must be saturated with it, and her boots were soaked through. What had Varric said? Just _touching it_ was dangerous? What did it do? That had not been terribly clear to her. Still, they had to move and Dorian made a good point- they had to figure out _when_ and _where_ they were before they could even figure out how to get back. If they could get back.

They had been wandering an empty maze of prison cells for a time, when the whisper of a voice caught Dorian’s attention. He led them cautiously through a door and into yet another set of cells- where a familiar face was braced between a wall, and a spike of Red Lyrium.

“Fiona?!” Wren hissed. The woman was glowing, her skin covered in strange lesions.

The elf turned her head slowly, her eyes going wide, “You’re… alive?” Her voice was strange, echoing and harsh, “I saw you… disappear… into the Rift…”  she seemed to have trouble speaking, breathing heavily between words. Dorian scrabbled with the lock, using a key from one of the guards to get it open. Wren stumbled into the cell, unsure of what she could do. It wasn’t until she was closer that she realized- the Grand Enchanter wasn’t standing _between_ the wall and the lyrium- she was in the _middle_ of the lyrium itself! The lesions along her skin were little spikes of red crystal, tearing through. Through the large crystal, you could see… _parts_ of the woman! Wren’s stomach boiled, and she had to turn away, lurching to one side of the cell and losing what little food was in her stomach.

Dorian’s voice was soft, full of pity, “Fiona… what has happened to you?”

Wren could still hear the older mage, barely, from where she was doubled over, hands on her knees, “Red…lyrium. It’s a disease. The longer you’re near it… eventually… you become it.” The enchanter took a shuddering breath, “Then they mine your corpse… for more.” Wren’s stomach churned again, but she held it back this time, willing her body to obey her as her magic did.

The Tevinter mage pressed on with frantic urgency, “Can you tell us the date? It’s very important!”

_‘How can he stand there and ask such sensible questions, while I’m getting sick all over my boots?_ ’

“Harvestemere… 9:42… Dragon.”

The younger mage wobbled a bit, but came back over, unable to look at Fiona directly, “We’ve missed an entire year… We have to go back.”

Fiona’s dissonant voice begged them, “Please!... If you can…Stop this from happening…”

Wren had to walk away again, unable to stand still, unable to look at what the woman she had admired was becoming. She could hear the older  mages speaking softly, Dorian trying to calm the woman as Fiona muttered something about The Elder One being more powerful than the Maker.

The two spoke at length, and it was a short time before Dorian rejoined the younger. “Come. She says Leliana is here somewhere, and she fears that this _Elder One_ will come for us.”

Wren pulled a small knife from her belt and held it out to the side towards her companion. It was one Tristan had insisted she keep on her, for emergencies. “Dorian… Give this to Enchanter Fiona?”

He did not take it right away, only looking at it, and then staring at her. She prayed that he didn’t ask, that he wouldn’t have to, and breathed a sigh of relief when he nodded his head in understanding. Wren left the room to wait, going back to the hall they had been in. When he returned, his look was miserable, but determined. “We _need_ to get that amulet from Alexius. I may be able to reverse what he’s done and get us back to when we belong.”

She thought she heard a soft grunt of pain from behind them, but she pushed on. “Good. Then let’s hurry.”

Dorian huffed with a dark laugh, “I said _maybe._ It might also turn us to paste.”

Wren smiled grimly, glancing over her shoulder at him, “At this point- if you fail, that might be a better option.”

They moved silently, but still ran into guards from time to time- each one surprised and thus easily dispatched. A familiar voice made Wren gasp, and in the distance, she could hear a woman muttering the Chant of Light, “-Through the paths of this world, and into the next. For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water.”

They opened the door and there sat Cassandra, behind a rusted cell door, with her eyes closed as she whispered to herself. Wren could not help but quietly finish the verse with her, “As the moth sees light and goes toward flame, She should see fire and go towards Light.” She took the keys from Dorian and opened the cell carefully.

The Seeker looked up, with glowing eyes. Her quietly echoing voice and the subtle glow around her was enough to know- she was infected with the red lyrium. “You’ve returned to us! Can it be? Has Andreste given us another chance?” She began to ramble pitifully to the Maker, begging forgiveness from him and thinking the end times were come. It was heartbreaking to see such a strong woman laid so low by whatever had happened to the world.

Wren rushed forward and pulled the woman to her feet, giving her a little shake, and hissing at her, “Seeker…Cassandra! Look at me.” Those red rimmed eyes met hers slowly, her pupils wide in disbelief, “I’m not dead. This was Alexius’ doing. We were thrown _forward_ in time. If we can get his amulet- do you know the one? -If we can get it, we can undo all of this.” Hopefully, something was actually making it through to her friend.

Cassandra seemed to pull herself together, and gave a harsh nod, “You will need my help then. Do you have a sword?”

“We found an armory for the guards just down the way.” Wren was about to turn and take her, when another voice from further down the room called out softly, “Is someone there?”

All eyes turned, and Wren looked to the Seeker for reassurance. The woman looked devastated, and stepped back towards Dorian, leaving the younger mage to investigate, “Go to him. We will find some weapons.”  The pain in her voice was enough to confirm Wren’s fears on who exactly was down there.

Numb, Wren walked slowly down the room, until she came to the last cell. The figure was in the very back, his eyes glowing brilliant red in the dark. They stared at each other as Wren’s hands fumbled with the lock and pushed open the door.

His voice sounded raw, like he had not spoken in a very long time, “You’re alive?” He moved slowly forward. “We…saw you die.” His hand came up and brushed her cheek, wiping away the tears she hadn’t even realized were there.

She could see it under his skin, the soft red glow. He had no lesions, but it was there none the less, pulsing and shifting and _growing inside_. She swallowed past the dryness of her mouth, and spoke softly, “Solas, I-“

He didn’t let her finish, swooping in and crushing his mouth against hers, he pulled her body roughly against his as if needing to reassure himself that she was real, not a ghost to haunt him. She couldn’t sto the whimper that escaped her and he growled in response, before pulling away and resting his forehead against hers, “Ir abelas,” he whispered in a rush, “Forgive me, Da’ean.” He stood up straighter, his face falling into a familiar mask, and his hands dropping back to his sides. “If you are not dead, then there is an explanation.” It was _not_ a question.

It took her a moment to recover, her cheeks burning. _‘Hahren…?’_ This was no time for her to question, no _time_ for her to ask, so she followed his lead and with a deep breath, explained as best as she could, “The spell you saw Alexius use, it displaced us, not where, but _when._ ”

Solas looked amazed, and Wren knew he would have questions, so she was grateful when Dorian appeared next to her, “We just got here, so to speak.”

The elf was excited; even his mask could not hide that, “Can you reverse the process? You could return, and obviate the events of the last year!” His glowing eyes turned to Wren, his voice dropping, “It may not be too late…”

“Yes well,” Dorian drawled, “It’s just a _simple_ matter of getting the amulet back from Alexius.” Wren was becoming fond of Dorian’s dark sense of humor, though the others obviously were not.

Solas turned a glare to the Tevinter, “You do not understand. The Elder One has reigned unchallenged, nearly since you di- left. The Venatori assassinated Empress Celene and in the chaos, he invaded the south. He controls an _army_ of demons. After you find Alexius, you must be prepared.”

Wren’s voice cracked as she spoke, “Will- will you help us now?” She had seen the pain in Fiona’s eyes, and even in Cassandra’s. The lyrium was literally erupting out of their bodies. It must be horrific to actually feel it.

There was no pain in _his_ eyes when he turned to her, only… “If there is any hope, any way to save them… My life is yours.” The words were heavy with meaning, but the younger mage didn’t dare try to interpret them.

Dorian led them down the hall to where Cassandra was buckling some meager armor onto her frame. She nodded to the new addition, and handed Solas a staff without word. The elf continued to speak, though it seemed more to himself than for them, “This world is an abomination. It must never come to pass.”

When they made it back up the stairs, they were met by more Venatori guards- _these_ ones seemed to be expecting them. Dorian launched an immediate attack, laughing in self-deprecation, “I suppose we’ve lost the element of surprise!”

The two mages fought well, but their future companions fought like things possessed. Rage was practically a visible _thing_ on them; Cassandra’s borrowed sword flashed in daring strokes, and Solas unleashed magics that Wren had never _seen_ in her time. One would have thought that being caged this whole time would mean they would be weak, unable to fight, but it seemed that even as the lyrium drained their bodies, they could call on its power. They cut through the enemy efficiently, and only waited for Dorian and Wren to catch up before forging ahead.

After being told that Leliana was here as well, Cassandra led them unerringly to the wing the most recent band of guards had come from. This was not another set of cells, but a strange conglomerate of bedrooms, storage… and torture chambers. They could hear shouting and a strangled cry of pain from down the hall on their left, and they rushed into the room, bursting through the door.

It was full of terrifying devices and blood covered tools of the trade. A masked man turned at their entrance, and the figure he had just been threatening lifted her legs up and snapped his neck. Wren wasted no time- running to the corpse and pulling the keys off his belt, then unlocking the woman, who she barely recognized as their spymaster. The woman stared at her in disbelief, with almost none of the lyrium taint the others had, but covered instead in ragged scars and bleeding sores. “You’re alive!” Was the only thing she said that seemed to truly come from Leliana, the person. The rest of the conversation came from Spymaster- information on soldiers, locations of importance, places and things to watch out for- all things that were immediately useful to their end goal. When prodded by Dorian or Wren to divulge something of this future, she would simply refuse.

As Leliana led them through the castle, they came upon more and more evidence of long term corruption. Here was a fresh blood magic ritual, and the whole room infested in demons to stop them. There were the servants quarters, with all the servants long ago slaughtered. The only living humans left were Venatori, so bloated on power that even the ones that were expecting them barely fought to save themselves. But when they walked into the courtyard and saw this time’s sky for the first time… Even the talkative Tevinter had little to say. There was no Breach anymore- because it had consumed the sky.

They continued in silence until they found the Magister’s door, keyed in, of course, by Red Lyrium. So they went in search of the lyrium keys, decimating the oddly meager forces that occupied the castle. Anytime they fought near one of the red pillars, however, Solas would shove her away from it and even force her to wait in the hall if he didn’t think it was safe enough. After every battle, he would touch her hair or brush his fingers along the back of her hand, as if to remind himself that she was still there.

The last shard collected (though only by the future companions, never being allowed near Wren or Dorian), they opened the door and walked through, expecting the Magister to be ready for them.

Instead, they saw a hunched creature, and a conquered looking man, standing before the same fireplace they had last left him. For a moment, no one spoke, and then his voice crawled out in defeat, “And here you are… Finally.” He turned, almost looking at them over his shoulder, “I knew you would appear again… Someday. I knew I had not destroyed you… My _final_ failing.”

Wren was less interested in what he had to say, and more in how he was acting. This wasn’t the same man that had ripped apart the fabric of time. This man was defeated, broken, long before they arrived. As he and Dorian spoke, his manner never changed. He was lost, convinced of his own demise, and unwilling to fight against it. It wasn’t until Leliana took the life of his son that he finally showed anything else- Rage.

The fight was brutal, and uncontrollable. Alexius had his own tricks up his sleeves, summoning a Rift at will to pour demons forth to fight them, or creating his little pockets of instability in time. His power nearly overwhelmed them, but for the three that had lived this time. They had nothing to lose, and everything to gain, so they threw everything into the fight. Winning was all that mattered to them, and when Alexius fell, there was only the amulet left to take care of.

Dorian, mumbling to himself for a bit, seemed relieved as he the heavy stone in his hands, “Give me an hour to work out the spell he used, and I should be able to reopen the Rift.”

The castle shook, and an unearthly wail rose from somewhere inside. Leliana ran up to Dorian, grabbing the collar of his robes, “An _hour_?!” she snarled, “That’s impossible! You must go _NOW_!”

Bricks shook down from the walls and ceiling, as _something_ smashed its way through the castle, thundering closer to their chamber. “The Elder One.” The spymaster whispered.

Solas took Wren’s hand tightly, desperation breaking through his mask, “You cannot stay here!” His other hand came up to cup her face, and she wondered if he was going to kiss her again, but instead he turned and looked to Cassandra. Some unknown message passed between them and the two of them moved towards the doors.

Wren took a step after him, in her heart already knowing what he was going to say, “Solas? Where are you going?”

He did not turn around, but he and the Seeker pulled their weapons out and she could just hear the slow snarl of his voice as they threw open the doors, “ _Ghi’mya_.”

Dorian grabbed the younger mage’s hand as Leliana followed the other pair, walking backwards and pleading with the Herald, “Look at us, we are already dead. They only way we’ll live is if this day _never_ comes.” She jogged after Cassandra and Solas now, “Cast your spell! You have as much time as I have arrows.” She closed the doors behind the warrior and the elf, and took up position at the first set of stairs.

The Tevinter pulled Wren up with him to the place where they’d stood before coming through the Rift, his eyes spoke of the sympathy he felt for her. She glared at the doors, cursing this blasted place and the Magisters who thought they could rule.

They both got to work, Dorian setting up the spell and instructing Wren on what kind of magics to place where. It was only a few minutes before they began to hear fighting. Leliana pulled an arrow and nocked it into the bow. A few more breaths of battle, and _something_ pounded on the entry. Dorian’s hurried spell was swirling now, but Wren could only watch as the frame cracked and the doors were flung open. She had a glimpse of the empty, dead eyes of Solas when his body was flung aside, but it was blocked from view by the demons and Venatori that rushed in. The spymaster set to work, lobbing arrow after arrow, whispering to herself with each hit. When the first arrow hit her, Wren almost leapt to her aid, but Dorian grabbed her hand tightly, “If you move, we all die!”

Even as the Rift opened, the young mage could not pull her eyes away, not until the woman that gave her life to allow them time, was ripped in two- and the Rift sucked them back into their present.

The pair strode through the tear and as soon as her eyes focused on the man, she swopped down onto Magister Alexius, a deep growl rumbling through her chest.

From behind her, Dorian quipped, “You’ll have to do better than that.” though his hand gripped her elbow, keeping her from simply tearing the bastard apart. The Magister stared at them in shock and defeat, collapsing to his knees before them.

She could not keep the snarl from her face though, “You are _finished_ , Alexius. It’s over.”

He would not even look up at her, preferring to speak with his son as if that could justify his actions. Wren wanted to drag the man to his feet, shake him, demand to know what _right_ he had to destroy the world! Instead, she watched as the guards dragged him to his feet and took him away. Before the party could do much else, however, new soldiers marched into the hall in sharp formation. Wren’s hand went to her staff, until she saw the pair that walked in with the guards- King Allister and Queen Anora themselves. She remembered Josephine saying that the Arl had sought their help, so it was no surprise when they demanded that the mages leave Ferelden.  She gave a snort of laughter, unheard over the din, ‘ _A bit late, isn’t it? Now that we’ve done all the dirty work._ ’

As Fiona began to panic, Wren felt a little shove, and looked back to see Dorian staring at her and lifting his eyebrows. Oh, right. She nodded and stepped forward, lifting her voice to be heard, “Grand Enchanter Fiona. You and your mages are still needed with the Inquisition. The Breach in the sky cannot be closed without your aid.”

The Enchanter, having just come out of her servitude with a Magister, was obviously untrusting, “And what are the _terms_ of this arrangement?”

Cassandra stepped in, “I suggest conscripting them.” She turned a hard glare at the elvhen woman, “They have proven what they will do, given too much freedom.”

Solas shook his head, “They have lost all possible supporters. The Inquisition is their only remaining chance for freedom.”

Fiona stood straight and turned to the Herald, “It seems we have little choice, but to accept whatever you offer.”

Everyone looked to Wren, waiting for her decision, even the King and Queen. Somehow, everyone here had silently agreed that this was _her_ decision. Nice of them to let her know now. It took a lot not to roll her eyes and throw up her hands at them, _‘Oh yes, ask the_ apostate _mage what to do with the_ other _apostate mages, because my answer is going to be so pleasing to you all!_ ’ However, she did have to think on it. The world she’d seen- the possible future they faced… It was…

_Not_ the fault of magic. It was the fault of one man, desperate to save his sons life- at the cost of the entire world. Hadn’t there been other people who had done the same, without the help of magic? The woman before her was clinging to her pride, but she could see fear and desperation there. This was the same woman who had willingly sent her friends and loved ones to the Conclave in hopes of finding peace. She was worried for her people, and their futures. Who was Wren to deny _anyone_ that, when it was a worry she shared?

Softly, Wren smiled at her with reassurance, “We would be honored to have you fight, as _allies_ , at the Inquisition’s side.”

For some odd reason, her decision seemed to surprise everyone, including her own party. Maybe she hadn’t made her own opinions on the matter clear enough up to this point… Something she would rectify, immediately.

Fiona bobbed her head in acknowledgement and approval. “I pray that the rest of your Inquisition honors your promise.”

The younger mage shook her head, “The Breach threatens _all_ of Thedas. We cannot afford to be divided now. We need the mages, and their full support, if we are to have any chance at success. You cannot give us that with a collar around your necks.”

The King regarded the scene with a politician’s mask, “I’d take that offer, if I were you Fiona. One way or another, you are leaving our kingdom.”

Fiona nodded slowly, holding her hand out to the Herald, “We accept. It would be madness not to.” She offered a small smile- the first Wren had seen from her, “The Breach _will_ be closed. You will not regret giving us this chance.” Wren took the hand and shook it carefully, feeling a bit stunned and overwhelmed. Her decision had not only been accepted by the mages, but had been witnessed and accepted by the _KING_ of Ferelden! This wasn’t her bringing blankets to some refugees, or fighting off renegades. This was, somehow, her giving her fellow mages _freedom_. The exct thing this whole Gods forsaken war had been about!

Cassandra stepped around them, leaning close to Wren for a moment, “We will discuss this… later.” She growled, obviously disapproving. However, she approached the royal pair and began to negotiate for the escort of the mages, and the time they would have to vacate the country. Fiona joined the Seeker and the four of them left the hall, deep in discussion. Cassandra disapproved, but had not rescinded the decisions. She disapproved, but had not even voiced her objections loud enough for any others to hear.

Wren stood in stunned silence, watching as the soldiers filed out and everyone seemed to go about their lives, like they knew what was going on. How did they do that? How did they just _accept_ the decision of some nobody mage from _Ostwick_? What could possibly have possessed her to stand there and speak with such confidence on a matter whose solution had once been the realm of the Divine?

Dorian gave her a pat on the shoulder, though even he looked a bit disappointed in her, before following the rest out. Silence settled around her, and she could only stare after them. When someone behind her coughed politely, she startled like a halla, and spun around to see who it was. Solas smirked at her, carefully walking down the steps until he was only a foot in front of her, “Wishing for that griffin yet, Da’len?”

For a moment, she was confused, but as the reference sunk in, she felt the bubble of something in her throat, and when she opened her mouth, she found it was laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really struggled with this whole thing. I actually contemplated leaving it out completely and only referencing it in passing later, but…. There was just too much to leave out. I love the way the game plays most of it out, but I needed my own twists. Kind of a short chapter, but I like where it ended. Hope you enjoyed
> 
> Translations:  
> At this point, any words that I’ve used regularly, I’m not going to include in translations anymore. Anything that I don’t include that doesn’t fit this category, it’s for a reason.  
> Ir abelas- I am sorry.  
> Ghi’mya- To hunt.


	8. Our Lady Shall Weep for Them

Cassandra, unsurprisingly, wasn’t at back at camp when Solas and Wren arrived. They had agreed before going into Redcliffe that they would not stay the night there, no matter the outcome- there were simply too many risks. So they’d planned to meet at the closest outpost, a new one set up only an hours ride from the city. The soldiers in camp were already setting up tents in preparation for them, and she spotted Dinall helping. After everything she had been through, it would be nice to have someone to speak with about it all.

As soon as he spotted them, the Tevinter came up and pulled her from her horse and into a tight hug. “Ma Sorora, I worried all day until we received the message from Seeker Cassandra. Is it true? Did you negotiate our freedom?” He beamed proudly down at her.

She smiled a little in return, not really sure that she deserved that kind of credit, “I suppose it is, in a way. We will see what happens in Haven, but the mages have been offered an alliance, instead of conscription. Cassandra didn’t like it, but no one actually objected.”

He whooped happily and picked her up to spin her around, as he was want to do, before taking her hand and bringing her into camp. “Can you imagine what that means, Sidas? We can have our own lives! We could own land, or travel Thedas! You will be a hero! You earned us the right to be treated as _people_. Not monsters in need of a cage or leash.” He turned her shoulders so that she was facing him again, his grin unwavering, “Thank you, Sidas.”

She smiled weakly, “Do not thank me yet, Dinall. I don’t know how much authority I actually have in this matter. Just because no one overturned it yet, doesn’t mean it’s permenant.”

He shook his head, “This is not like you. You are our Star! Our shining guide in the weary night. Where did this sad little mage come from?”

Her face dropped, and she looked down at her feet, “It… it was a very long day, Fratrem. Can I tell you about it later?”

With a sigh, he brushed her hair out of her face and nodded, “Alright little sister. But it will have to be at Crossroads. Josephine needs me to speak with someone there. I refused to leave until I had seen you back and safe, but I really must go now.” He bumped her chin with his fist, “Will you be alright?”

She shrugged, “I will live.”

He looked over her shoulder towards the camp, and a chuckle rumbled in his chest at something he saw there, “Well, at least I know you will be well guarded.”

Confused, she tipped her head up at him, “I am in an outpost with two dozen soldiers. Of course I am.”

Shaking his head, he leaned down and gave her a hug, “That was not what I was referring to, ma sorora, but it is also true. Behave. Try not to end any more wars without me, yes?”

Smiling a little more, she nodded and followed him the rest of the way into camp, where a horse was already waiting for him and his small group of guards. With a final hug, he promised to see her soon and set out for Crossroads.

Sunset was still an hour or so off, and feeling desperately tainted from her time in the future world, Wren decided to risk a quick, very cold, bath in the pools nearby. There were a few female soldiers at the outpost, and it took almost no persuading to get them to come with her. As a soldier, you learned to never take hygiene for granted, and you never bathed alone.

The women were happy, laughing and joking around with each other, but any time she tried to join in, they became deferential and more subdued. Feeling like a bit of a wet blanket, she stopped trying and simply listened to their excited conversations, finding a deeper area to wade into. They didn’t let their guard down completely, but she gathered from their conversations that they were fairly happy to be part of the Inquisition, and while nervous about the mages that would soon be joining them, they were thankful for the peace this would mean. The negotiations were still underway, but news was traveling fast that everything had been settled. Both Cassandra and Fiona had sent ravens out, and if there was one thing that spread faster than a hard riding horse- it was news.

This was no time for a long soak, so the women were fairly efficient in cleaning and dressing again. Wren, not wanting to be anywhere near her clothes from today, had taken a set of camp clothes from the requisitions of this outpost, and was more comfortably dressed in the thick woolen trousers and heavy winter tunic than she had been in her armor. By the time they all returned, the men had built up the fires them, and even thrown together a bland but hearty stew. Already feeling awkward, Wren took a bowl of stew, leaving her thanks with the cooks, and scuttled off to her tent near the edge of the encampment.

Throwing a thick blanket onto the ground, she sat down heavily and poked at her food. No matter how hard she tried, she could not get the images of that horrible future out of her head. They replayed over and over and over, until each scene bled into others, and it was Cassandra being consumed by the lyrium, and Solas tortured in the stocks, and Dorian behind the Venatori masks.

A shadow came between her and the distant flickering of the fire, “On dhea’lem, Da’len.” Solas spoke softly, sitting down beside her with his own small bowl. “Nuvhenan ma son.”

For a moment, she considered simply not answering him. Future Solas had behaved so differently, and she was having a hard time separating him from the present man who had been so cold to her just the day before. But with a sigh she responded, keeping her eyes on her stew, “Tel'ame, y emma serannas.”

They were both silent for a while, the murmur of the nearby soldiers and the call of the local birds filling in the gap. Solas was the one to break the silence, his voice deep, “Do you wish to speak of what happened?” On the ride here, Wren had explained, briefly, what happened in the Rift. When she’d mentioned the red lyrium, Solas had immediately pulled up their horses and insisted on examining her for the taint. It was a relief to see him so concerned, but even still she could not look him in the eyes. The future and present kept overlapping, and she could not bear to see those red glowing eyes again.

“What is there to talk about, Hahren? It is a future that will never come to pass now.”

By his initial silence, she thought perhaps he would let it be, but the man was stubborn, “It has greatly affected you, Da’len. More than what I would expect from what you told me earlier. So tell me,” his fingers reached into her line of sight, and pushed her chin up. She let him move her, but her eyes stopped at his neck and refused to move up further, “what happened in this future that means you will not look me in the eyes anymore?”

That startled her, and she did look up to meet his gaze. _‘No red. No glow. Just…him._ ’ Her chest tightened painfully and her lips quivered, catching his attention for a brief second. Barely whispering, Wren found herself speaking, “I saw you die.”

That answer must not have been what he expected, because his hand stiffened on her chin and his eyes widened. She chewed on the inside of her lip, biting down hard to keep from whimpering. It hadn’t been until she’d said it that she realized what was worse than seeing him infected. At least when the lyrium had been his killer, he could still speak, still fight, still smile sadly at her. But to see him simply… dead…A proof of his mortality…

One corner of his lips tugged up into a sad smile, and he tipped his head to the side, “You saw a future that will not be, Da’ean.” His had slid up her jaw to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing it for a moment.

She couldn’t help but lean into it a little until he pulled it away. Eyes closed, she took a few slow, steadying breaths, before looking up at him again, “You’ve called me that…I-in the future, too. It is not a word I am familiar with.” Any chance to change the subject was welcome right now. Her wounds were still too raw, in some cases literally.

Surprisingly, he blushed a little and looked down at his now empty bowl, “Ah, well. It means… Little Bird.”

Wren had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing, her voice wavering in amusement, “Little bird? Really, Hahren?” a giggle slipped out, and her body started to shake with repressed laughter.

Solas scowled indignantly at her, picking up his bowl and hers and standing, “That is what a wren is, is it not?” With a huff, he stomped back to the fire with their dishes.

She laughed out loud then, his indignation and embarrassment just too much for something so simple and sweet. Even his exasperation, she knew, was mostly feigned. But her mirth didn’t last long, and as it died out, she began to wonder about his future-self’s actions. Did it mean… _anything_ for _this_ Solas? She desperately wanted to ask him- unresolved questions were her bane- but what would she even ask? Her eyes found their way to his figure, and she watched him rinse out the dishes and place them on the growing stack by the cook’s tent. He paused to ask something of one of the nearby soldiers, and politely thanked them for their response. He was that way with everyone. Generally to the point, polite- to an extent- but interacting only as much as was required. In Haven, he never joined the company at the tavern or mingled with the soldiers during training. He never went to the Chantry for prayer (though Wren was only there occasionally), and honestly, she had no idea what he did when not traipsing about the countryside with her. But with her, he was different. It hadn’t been obvious up to that point, but it was there. He spoke with her, frequently, about his journeys and experiences. No question she asked him went unanswered, though she didn’t always understand his cryptic responses. Their interactions were frequent, friendly, and unique. What did that mean?

“Am I so interesting?” Solas’ voice broke her musings and she realized that while she’d been watching him, he’d actually returned to where she still sat.

Blushing, she ducked her head, thanking the coming night for hiding her face some, “I apologize, I was in my own world.”

“Ah. And here I hoped you simply found me pleasing to look upon.” Eyes wide, she looked up at him in surprise. He smirked down at her, and it took her a second to realize he had his hand out, offering to help her up. ‘ _There! Is he… flirting?_ ’ With hesitation, she took it and stood with his aid. He still smiled as he spoke, obviously enjoying her discomfort, “It has been a long day. Cassandra sent word that she would be a while yet at Redcliffe, and we should make our way back to the Crossroads without her. Some of the mages will meet there, so we can escort them back to Haven.” He released her hand after bowing over it, “On nydha, Da’ean.” Not waiting for her to respond, he turned and entered his own tent across from hers.

She watched him disappear, confusion swirling around in her mind, but something warm fluttering in her chest, “On nydha, falon.” She whispered.

*

The mages that met them at the Crossroads were primarily children, elderly, and people with injuries. It was apparent to Wren that the Grand Enchanter cared deeply for her people- enough so that she wanted those too weak to defend themselves to get to safety before anyone else. It took time for everyone to get organized and for the assembly to start the half day’s journey. Many of the soldiers from Haven and the surrounding area had been called in to assist, though Wren wasn’t clear if it was for the protection of the mages, or the protection of the people in the countryside they would be passing. From the handful of ex-Templar soldiers that were part of the effort, she got the distinct feeling that it was the latter.

It made her stomach turn to see the fear and worry in the mages’ eyes, and the hate and prejudice in everyone else’s. The whole situation only reinforced her desire to see the mages free of this, and the people shown just how much good they could do. Magic was meant to serve the people- but not from behind the closed and locked doors of a Circle.

It took nearly the whole day for them to return home and Wren was grateful for both Solas and Dinall’s steady company. While the elf said little during the trek, her brother asked about the future she had briefly described earlier. She spoke in quiet detail about all that she’d seen, skipping the future-Solas’ reaction to her, but everything else was discussed between them. While talking about it brought the images to the surface, it also helped to have someone to share the pain with. It took her nearly the entire trip in the telling, but by the end, she felt like a knot had been undone in her chest.

Two children were perched on Wren’s horse by the time they arrived, and she led the sedate creature calmly while telling the children the story of Andraste’s Mabari. The chantry generally frowned upon the tale, but as it also frowned upon mages, she felt little guilt in telling them. They were met by more soldiers and a few of the townsfolk and chantry clerics, and the mages were herded to a mass of tents that had been erected between the soldier’s camp and the inner ring of Haven itself. She let one of the stable hands take her horse after helping the children dismount, and headed to the Chantry, hoping that Cassandra was there already. It had been a long day, and she desperately wanted to get into some clean clothes, but she had an obligation of duty first.

As she walked in, she was relieved to see that Cassandra was present, though already in the company of the inner circle. By the stormy look on Cullen’s face, Wren knew they had been briefed on the happenings. The temptation to turn around and leave, perhaps spend the night in the stables hidden in the hay, was almost overwhelming.

Josephine was arguing with Cullen as the young mage approached, and already the discussion was making Wren sick, “If we rescind the offer of alliance, it makes the Inquisition appear incompetent at best, _tyrannical_ at worst!”

The ex-Templars thunderous gaze snapped to Wren, and he sneered at her, “What were you thinking, turning mages’ loose with no oversight? The Veil is torn open!”

Wren’s own temper flared in response, “We are not _monsters_ to be leashed and caged!”

He made a dismissive motion with his hand, “The Circle is not a cage- it’s protection! Free ranging mages cannot help us right now.”

She bristled, unable to hold her anger, “The Breach _needs_ to be closed, and they are here to help us with that!”

Cullen took a step forward, his voice raising with hers, “And what will you do when there are abominations among the mages? You could be just as big of a threat as the Breach itself!”

Her stomach dropped and she gaped at him, unable to respond immediately. His attention quickly shifted to his right, his anger directed to Cassandra now, “ _You_ were there, Seeker! Why didn’t you intervene?!”

Cassandra, unruffled by the shouting, turned her steady gaze on the Commander, “While I may not _completely_ agree with the decision, I support it.” Wren perked up, startled by her declaration. The warrior turned and gave her a wry smile, before turning back to the others, “The _sole_ point of the Herald’s mission was to gain the mage’s aid, and that was accomplished.” Feeling a little less cornered, Wren smiled gratefully at the Seeker.

A different voice interrupted, and everyone turned to its owner, “The voice of pragmatism speaks! And here I was just starting to enjoy the circular arguments.” Dorian beamed at them from where he leaned against a pillar, and gave Wren an encouraging nod. Worry that she had not been aware she was carrying lifted from her shoulders at the sight of him. She had wondered if after the defeat of Alexius, he would cut ties with the Inquisition.

Cassandra turned to regard him, though it was difficult to tell if she was annoyed, or pleased. “Closing the Breach is all that matters.”

The younger mage nodded, she and Dorian exchanging heavy looks, “We saw what happens if we do not succeed. We cannot afford to fail, or be divided.”

The Cassandra and Leliana spoke softly for a time, discussing what the future had entailed and the need to prevent it. Dorian added a few quips, but mostly he acted as a buoying force for Wren. They may not have worked together for long, but they had been through more than the others. Amazing, what a little bit of hell can do for two people’s trust in each other.

Cullen spoke up again, his voice calmer, but still heavy with resentment, “Let’s take this to the war room.” He caught Wren’s eye, and a harsh smile turned his face dark- at odds with the his syrupy voice, “Join us. None of this means anything without your Mark, after all.” His words were purposefully barbed, and they found their mark in her chest.

She nodded numbly, but couldn’t speak without betraying the lump in her throat. The Commander had been so kind to her before, but this cruelty he was displaying now was hard to reconcile. The other councilors followed him down the hall to the war room, leaving Wren to come when she was ready.

Dorian added his last two cents as the others began to move off, “I’ll skip the war council, but I would like to see this Breach up close, if you don’t mind.”

Wren, grateful again for his distraction, pulled her attention away from the retreating form of the Commander, “Does that mean… that you’re staying?”

“Oh, didn’t I mention? The south is so charming and rustic. I adore it to little pieces.” He grinned at her, and she relaxed a little, smiling back at him again.

“I’m glad, Dorian. There’s no one I would rather be stranded in time with- future or present.” It was true. Despite all of the horror they had seen, Dorian had remained wonderfully snide and flippant about the situation. It had helped keep her from losing her lunch again, or simply collapsing in a corner and sobbing.

“Excellent choice! But let’s not get stranded again anytime soon, yes?” The smile he returned was genuine, and Wren, once again, felt buoyed by his presence. If they had a few more people around like him, maybe they had a chance at this after all.

“Alright. Look, if you really do want to see the Breach, ask Varric to go with you? There haven’t been any new Rifts in the area… but I’d hate to lose an ally so shortly after gaining them.”  Her concern was real. The way was well guarded by soldiers, but every now and then something would wander through.

Dorian gasped in mock hurt, “Why Herald! You act as if I cannot defend myself. Were I an actual Magister, I would be horribly insulted.” She chuckled softly and he took a few steps towards her and gave her shoulder a squeeze, “I’ll ask Master Tethras to accompany me. Don’t let them get to you. I might not agree with giving the mages free reign, but I can… understand, your motivation.” With a last small smile, he walked out the Chantry, leaving Wren to face the council alone.

The war council lasted well into the night, as they discussed how Haven would accommodate the mages, what safety precautions were to be taken, what they would do with the new soldier recruits and how to assign the handful of disenfranchised Templars that were trickling in from empty Circles. They discussed the need for lyrium, for both the Templars and the mages, and if they should stay with their ‘legal’ supply, or some of the more shady places Leliana could obtain it from. In the same line, they argued over accommodations and what new supplies they would need, and how long they might need them for.

After summoning both Solas and Vivienne, it was decided that the two would work together to train the mages  to focus their magic through the Herald. It was a task both familiar and new, as Circles sometimes performed similar tasks, though not generally with such dire circumstances or strange foci. “A week,” Solas had told them, “is the shortest amount of time we will need. The mages need to get settled and calm, or they will be unable to perform.” So a week was allotted, and everyone seemed satisfied.

Wren contributed little, feeling more like a trophy or a tool, than an actual member. Honestly, she wasn’t even sure what she was doing here. By the Creators, the Commander had made his opinion on a mage’s usefulness _very_ clear. Josephine at least seemed pleased with her decision, and while Leliana and Cassandra might not have agreed, they were no long voicing regret on it. _He_ , however, still made snide comments from time to time, and pushed for heavy guards between the mages and the rest of the settlement. Wren did not fight him, even when it seemed the others expected her to. What point was there? As he said, she was only useful for her Mark and the damned title of Herald. She just sat in the corner, complacently agreeing where she was expected to agree, and allowing them to make the rest of the decisions.

She’d hardly noticed when the meeting was over. Leliana touched her shoulder, and she looked around, sighing and following the other women out. They said their goodnights, and Wren left, barely noticing the looks the women gave her, or each other. She didn’t need or want their pity. Her only job here was to close the Breach. Then she could go back to being an apostate and hunted for her pelt- or in this case, her freedom.

Dinall was standing outside of Josephine’s office with a stack of papers, watching her with deep concern etched onto his features. He took a few steps towards her, but she shook her head and waved him away. He had more important things to do than follow her around and listen to her mope. Josephine had expressed earlier how pleased she was to have such an attentive assistant, particularly one that could help be a liaison between the Inquisition and their mage allies. As Wren passed, she heard him quietly demand an explanation from Josephine. What would the woman tell him? That Wren had been put in her place? That she’d finally been shown what her value was?

Her cabin was warm, a fire already crackling merrily in the hearth, and she saw that someone, probably the young servant girl from before, had laid out a fresh set of clothing for her. It warmed her a little to know that, even if it was under order, someone at least cared that much. She changed clothes and pulled the heavy wool blanket from her bed, dragging it and the pillows over to in front of the fire place. Curling up on the carpet, she snuggled in to her little nest and watched the dancing flames.

When had her life become so complicated?

*

She woke to someone frantically calling for her through the door. Leaping to her feet, she snatched her staff from beside the door and threw it open. It was Varric at her door, his face serious, “You have to come, Boss. Your friend is wailing on the him, and if someone doesn’t stop it soon-“

She didn’t let him finished, just slammed the door behind her and followed him down the road and to the Tavern. There was a growing crowd outside the building and she could hear shouting and cries of fear. Shoving her way through she found Dinall throwing someone to the ground and pulling his bloody knuckles back to hit the person again. “Dinall no!” She leapt forward and threw herself at his arm, holding it back. He struggled for a  moment, but once he realized it was her, he snarled, but got up and stepped away. One restraining hand on his chest and the other still gripping his arm, she turned and looked at the form struggling to his feet- and was shocked to see Commander Cullen wiping blood from the corner of his mouth. Off-duty soldiers rushed to his aid, but he stayed them with a wave of his hand. He glared at the people around them, snarling low, “Don’t you all have _jobs_ to do?” The people dispersed slowly, though his soldiers were obviously reluctant to leave him alone. The Commander convinced them eventually, and they left with glares at Dinall and Wren.

Wren could feel Dinall’s hear still beating heavily under her hand, and she looked up at her friend in shock, “What in Thedas is this all about?”

The ex-Templar laughed humorlessly from behind her, “Isn’t it obvious, _Herald_? One of your mages got off his _leash._ ”

Dinall surged forward again, his hands tightening, but Wren shoved his chest and pushed him back, stepping fully between him and the Commander. “Stop it,” she hissed, “it’s not worth it.”

The taller man looked down at her, rage still flaring in his eyes, “What he said to you was completely out of line! He deserves every hit I landed.”

Wren was surprised and realized that Josephine must have divulged the conversation from earlier. Dinall had always been protective of her, though only once before had it come to blows. She was grateful that he was able to keep his magic in check, but she didn’t want to tempt fate any further. “Go to my cabin, Dinall.” He opened his mouth to object, be she gave him another little shove, “No, just go. I’ll be there in a moment, alright?” He glared down at her, jaw clenching and unclenching, before he gave a sharp jerk of his head and turned on his heel, leaving Wren and the Commander alone.

Reluctantly, she turned to look Cullen, her teeth clenching tightly. He was rubbing his side, wincing as he discovered how much damage he’d taken. There was still blood trickling down the side of his mouth where his lip had been split, and he had a bruise forming on his cheek. It took her a moment, but she saw his unsteady stance and could smell the ale on him, and realized that Dinall must have dragged him out of the Tavern. Cullen… was drunk. No wonder Dinall had the upper hand.

Looking at him, she felt her resentment and frustration melt away, and was left with a sort of pity for him. Here was a man who’d torn from the world he knew and thrown into an organization that was expected to fix a magic hole in the sky, while being condemned by the Chantry that made him. Sighing softly, she stepped towards him and lifted her hands towards his ribs. He took a half step back and snarled at her, but she swatted his hands away and laid her fingers over the area he was favoring, “Let me do my job, at least.” He stood stiffly as she let her magic seep through his body and into his ribs. Nothing was really broken, though one rib was cracked and the rest were heavily bruised. She let her magic heal the ribs, soothing the pain away as well. When that was finished, she brought her hand up to his face, her fingers dancing along the bruised cheek and bleeding lip. She ignored the strange look he was giving her, though she mumbled soothing words when he flinched at the probing touch. The cheek _was_ broken, but an easy bone to mend. It would be sore for a few days, but at least there would be no bruise.

Finished, she finally looked into his eyes. His brow was creased, and a frown marred his normally pleasant features, but there was confusion and fear in his eyes. ‘ _What terrors stalk our brave Commander?’_ she thought, remembering the night he’d come to apologize to her. Shaking her head sadly, she turned his words from then back on him, “I will not ask what happened to make you hate the mages so. I only ask that you do not paint us all with the same brush. I shall happily endeavor to do the same.”

Those words had affected her deeply, and she could only hope that they would remind him that they were on the same side. She no longer hoped for friendship with him, but a pleasant working relationship would make both their lives easier. “Goodnight, Commander Cullen.” She gave him a stiff bow, and turned to follow her circle brother.

Dinall was waiting for her when she arrived, pacing back and forth between the window and the door. As soon as she entered, he made two long strides to her and lifted her face in his hands, scrutinizing her face and stance for any injuries. She let him, knowing that fighting it would be pointless. Once he was satisfied, he turned away from her and began pacing again. Wren needed to get his mind off of the Commander for a bit, so she asked the first question that came to mind, “Have you heard from Tristan at all?”

That stopped him. His back was to her, and she saw his shoulders sag, “No.” he said softly without turning around, “After the Conclave, I returned to our camp, but he and the others were gone, and there was evidence that the Templars had been there recently. There was no sign of a struggle, thank the Maker, but there was no sign of where he’d gone.”

Wren stepped up to him, sliding her arms around his waist and resting her head on his back, “You couldn’t look for him by yourself. Not with all the Templars running around. We’ll find him. When all this is over, we’ll find him.”

They did not move for a long time, both thinking of the people who had become family to them and wondering at their fate. Finally, he turned in her arms and wrapped his own around her. “He was talking to the dwarf when I came in.” Wren hummed in response, unsure where he was going with this. “I listened for a bit, before dragging him out.” He stopped and lifted one arm to around her shoulder, using the other to guide  her to the floor, where her abandoned nest still sat. “He was upset about what he’d said to you. He said that after every struggle, every fight, every failure or win, you always had ‘your fire’… Today was the first time he’d seen you defeated.”

Wren’s mind was silent , unable to really understand what he was saying. Brow twitching down, she asked the one question that came, “Then why did you hit him?”

Dinall shrugged, tugging her down to the ground with him and curling behind her so that they faced the fire, “Because when Varric suggested he apologize, he just shook his head and said that you wouldn’t understand.”

Wren was completely confused for a full second, before turning around in his arms and smacking his chest, “So you beat the Commander of the Inquisition’s army to a pulp?”

He smiled at her, his pride in her easily read on his face, “Of course I did. What he thinks of you for being a mage is between you two. But suggesting that you would not be willing to understand his reasoning? That is an insult to you.”

Wren laughed and threw her arms around his neck. Who wouldn’t be grateful for someone who cared so much?

They stayed in front of the fire for a long time, speaking softly of the past, present and hopeful future. Dinall finally insisted that she go to sleep, and tucked her in with a kiss to the forehead. “Sleep well, Sidas.”

She smiled and cuddled into the bed a little further, “And you, fratrem.”

When sleep claimed her, it was not Red Lyrium and ghosts of the future that she dreamt of. It was a future to live freely with people surrounding her who loved her just the way she was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots and lots of fluff and original stuff here, as well as a few in-game scenes that I just didn’t want to change. Hope you enjoyed!  
> Translations:  
> On dhea’lem- Good evening.  
> Nuvhenan ma son.- I hope you are well.  
> Tel'ame, y emma serannas,- I am not, but thank you.  
> On nydha- Good night.  
> Falon- a close friend, someone you trust and care for, not casual.  
> Da’ean- Little Bird, generally refers to a song bird.  
> (Now I know that the lexicon has claimed this as something you’d call a child, but in this story, Solas does not mean it that way. His perspective on Wren has changed from Da’len, which acknowledged her as younger and less experienced, to Da’ean, a ‘pet name,’ if you will, for someone he has grown to respect and enjoy seeing- much as you might enjoy seeing a beautiful bird return to your garden every morning.)


	9. (In Your Heart Shall Burn) an Unquenchable Flame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick AN: I apologize in advance. Most of the dialogue is nearly identical. There’s lots of extra stuff and thoughts and whatnot, but still. Don’t worry- next chapter will be less word-for-word.

The week passed quickly, and as they got closer to the fateful day, Wren became nervous. What if it didn’t work? What if nothing happened? Or worse- what if using the mages truly _was_ a bad idea, and they only opened the Breach further? Could some of the mages be behind this? How could they know the intentions of every person here? Her mind was a flurry of questions and it didn’t help that she had very little to do. Her presence was required only for a few short hours each day to help with the training of the mages. Then she would answer whatever missives Josephine insisted come from her hand. After that, she would go over any new tasks that Cassandra and Leliana wanted her opinion on. Commander Cullen was so busy with training the new recruits that she barely had to go out of her way to avoid him. Finally, most evenings found her either in the tavern with Varric, Dinall, and some of the younger mages, or just outside of Haven, perched on the rocks with Solas, discussing the Fade and the stars.

This last night was the latter. She’d considered going to the Tavern, but her stomach had churned at the thought of food or drink, much less all the people crowding around her. At first she had thought to simply wander around the outskirts of Haven, but when she’d seen Solas, leaning against the rockface that marked their little trail to solitude, she had not hesitated to follow him up to their usual spot.

The ledge overlooked Haven and the inbound road, with a shallow overhang to block the wind and no trees to mar the view of the sky. They’d made a firepit up here, and it was already lit when she caught up to him. This had been her idea at first- she wanted to discuss the stars and whether their alignment affected magic in this world, considering the astrariums they had discovered, but in town had been loud and distracting, with too many fires to see the sky well. Tonight, it would be nice to see the sky without seeing the Breach- for the tear in the sky was behind them, blocked from view by rock.

Settling next to the small fire, Wren sighed and poked aimlessly at the embers with a stick. Solas sat beside her, silent as usual as he waited for her to speak- if she was going to. He never rushed her, never pestered her- he simply waited expectantly until she was ready to speak. Tonight, she was more grateful than usual. So they sat, side by side, and watched the sun disappear in the distance, and the stars fade into existence like so many jewels across the sky. Winter was the best time to stargaze, in Wren’s opinion. The air was crisp and cool, leaving the sky sharp and almost close enough to touch.

Finally, she broke their companionable silence, with a question that had been worrying her all week. “If this works tomorrow, and the Breach _is_ closed completely, what will you do after, Solas?” They’d broached this subject before, and he’d easily deflected it by expressing his doubts that it would completely close. She hoped for an actual answer this time.

He was silent for a long time, but Wren didn’t press. She had no plans to sleep tonight- not with the nightmares that had returned to haunt her. In the distance, thunder rumbled, and as if in reply, the wind picked up a little. Finally, he spoke, “There are places I had intended to see.  I was on my way to them before the Breach. With the war at least under control, I hope that it will be safe enough for me now.” It was still a vague answer, but more than she’d truly expected. “What about you? Will you stay to help the Inquisition hunt the culprit, or will you leave and live the life of freedom you have long desired?”

She smiled, recognizing that he had no intention of speaking about his future actions any further, “I am not sure. I know that Dinall is anxious to get me away, and we both want to find any of the others from our Circle that might yet live. But… I feel an obligation to the Inquisition.” Her eyes went to the mark on her hand, where it crackled and fluttered under the skin. When she was farther away from the Breach, it was easy to forget that it was there. But this close, it almost _itched_ with unleashed power. “I want this gone. I want to be free of its burden. More than that, I want Thedas to be at peace with itself so that I _can_ go live my ‘life of freedom.’ All of those things can be accomplished through the Inquisition.”

“An admirable view, Da’ean.” His tone was neutral, and she was learning that it was usually an indication of his disapproval. Well, he was allowed his opinions.

Deciding to poke at him a little, she smirked at him, “Would you rather I wander the world with you? Searching old ruins and inviting spirits to dance in the Fade?”

Despite the small smile he gave her in return, there was pain in his eyes, “Ah, but what a waste of your youth that would be.”

Her brow furrowed at him, and she wrinkled her nose, “You are not so much older than I, Hahren. Is that not how _you_ wasted _your_ youth?”

Chuckling, he shook his head, “No. My youth was much as yours seems to be- full of strange happenings and a brash young mage, leading the charge.”

Now it was her turn to giggle, her hand reaching up to touch the back of his head, “I cannot imagine you being ‘brash’ like this. I imagine you must have had luxuriously long hair.” He quirked an eyebrow at her, but said nothing. Eyes wide, she almost shouted, “Ha! You _did_ have long hair, didn’t you?” He only smiled indulgently, leaning back into her touch. She tried to imagine, with her fingers dancing over his head and neck, what a younger Solas would look like with different Dalish cuts, or maybe something like the classic soldier styles. It was difficult, and each time she saw something different she giggled.

“What is so funny, Da’ean?” he asked, his voice deep and his eyes barely open.

“I just cannot see you with any other style. Younger you, maybe, but this you- I like the way you look.” It took her only a second to realize what she’d said, and she pulled her hand back into her lap, blushing deeply. He chuckled softly, and she felt a familiar tingle run down her spine at the sound. She refused to look up at him, but she could feel his predatory stare. She imagined his eyes reflecting the firelight, like a beast stalking just outside of its reach. The image was incredibly… sexy.

He shifted a little towards her, but before she could even anticipate his intentions, something cold hit her face, then another, and another- and the sky seemed to decide that _this_ was a perfect time for the storm to sneak up on them. A freezing rain began to fall, and their little alcove was not sheltered from the cold that it brought with it. Solas stood and offered her a hand up, and she took it, noting how warm his touch was. Almost grateful for the storm, she followed his hurried steps down the path, nearly slipping if not for the grip he had on her. When they approached the crowd of people entering, he dropped her hand, and she immediately missed the reassuring touch. They filed through with the others, and he led the way to her cabin. Stopping under the small overhang, he pushed open the door for her. Turning to face him once inside, she smiled shyly at him, “Thank you, Hahren, for keeping me company tonight.”

He did not smile, but the look he gave her was enough, “I am always happy to, Da’ean.” He hesitated,”… Tomorrow… will be difficult for you. The power going through the Mark will be more than you’ve even experienced.” She felt the nervous flutter return to her stomach as he continued, “However, you are an accomplished mage. I believe in your abilities.” Now he smiled, something soft and gentle, a new one from him. “Sleep well, Wren. Dream only of your success.”

The fluttering had changed, from apprehension ready to become fear for tomorrow, to a pleasant nervousness derived from his praise and use of her name, instead of the playful titles they’d used. “On nydha, Solas.”

He bowed, and left, hurrying through the now heavy rain.

Perhaps tomorrow… was not so impossible.

*

It was finished. With the mages’ power channeling through her, she managed to close the Rift and stabilize the Breach. This time, she did not feel drained, and she did not pass out. How embarrassing would that have been? Surely passing out on her _third_ encounter with the main Rift would nullify her title as Herald, right? The soldiers and mages had cheered, and she stood proudly- not for herself, but for the accomplishments of the Inquisition. They had done it, _mages_ had done it.

By the time they’d returned to Haven, the celebrations were well under way. Though the Breach still loomed, it was no longer an immediate threat, and that was reason enough to bring out instruments and ale and clear some space for dancing. The returning mages were waylaid by the people and soldiers of Haven, and dragged into the celebration. Solas had stayed with a small group to examine the Breach, but Cassandra and Wren needed to give their reports to the others. It took them time wade through the people towards the Chantry, and a bit more time to write their accounts, but there was a sense of closure afterwards.

The young mage stood looking over the jovial crowd, and smiled, sharing it with the Seeker as the woman approached, “Solas confirms, the Heavens are scarred, but calm. The Breach is sealed.” The Seeker nodded towards where the man in question stood near the Chantry doors, speaking with Cullen. “We’ve reports of lingering rifts, and there are many questions still, but this was a Victory.” She turned to face Wren again, “Word of your heroism has spread.”

Wren snorted, looking out on the people below, “The people of the Inquisition are the true heroes today. I hope that the mages will be remembered in this. I do not deserve the credit, I’m just _lucky_ enough to be the one with the Mark.”

Cassandra chuckled a little, “That is a bit of luck that we could use more of.” She eyed the mage for a moment, before her manner changed, “There is still much that needs to be done, and we could use _your_ help. The Breach, while it is sealed now, must still be addressed. We must also find out who this Elder One is, and why he killed the Divine. We must address the Venatori threat, and attempt to stop the assassination of Empress Celene.” Both women watched the dancers below, contemplative of the future and what it would require of them. Finally, Cassandra sighed and placed hand on her friend’s shoulder, “Think on it, _Wren_. I am not the only one who wishes you would stay.” A ghost of a smile crossed her lips, and her eyes lifted to someone over the mage’s shoulder. She gave a nod to the person, before taking her leave.

Wren turned, expecting to see Dinall or perhaps Solas. Commander Cullen was _not_ on her short list of desired visitors, however. Yet there he stood, rubbing his neck and looking like a scolded child. Gritting her teeth, Wren dipped her head in a respectful greeting, “Commander.”

He took a few tentative steps towards her, and his voice was only just audible above the music, “L-lady Trevelyan.” The man stood a little straighter, obviously trying to bolster himself, “I came to congratulate you and the mages. It- it was a well done.”

Eyes still cold, Wren lifted her glowing hand casually, “The _mages_ deserve your thanks, Commander, not I. After all, _I_ was only there for the Mark.” She threw his words back at him and he flinched as if they were a physical blow. It was satisfying, but it also made her feel a bit petty. Still, what he’d said to her…

Bells rang out over the music, and both of them turned with wide eyes. They ran for the gate and a soldier intercepted the Commander, frantically giving him the message from the alarm rings. Cullen’s face grew pale, and he turned, drawing his sword, “Forces approaching! To arms!” he shouted, his trained voice carrying over the sudden flurry of activity. Soldiers ran to their stations, pulling on armor and weapons as they went. Clerics ran to the Chantry, herding children and the non-combatants with them to safety. Wren ran towards the main gates, Solas and Cassandra soon catching up with her.

By the time they joined Cullen at the steps, even Josephine and Leliana were present, and the Commander looked grim, “Only one watch guard reporting,” Leliana looked pained; those were her men. “It’s a massive force, the bulk of it over the mountain.

The ambassador spoke first, “Under what banner?”

Cullen’s face was bleak, “None.”

The sound of fighting grew closer, until it was right upon the gate. They heard a soldier shout in surprise, though it was impossible to tell if it was one of their own or the enemy’s, but it was cut short. A young voice called out to them, asking to be let in. Risking the consequences, Wren nodded to the men guarding the gate and came down the steps as they opened one of the heavy doors. Amongst a pile of heavily armed bodies, stood a strange young man. His eyes were barely visible under the floppy hat and behind the long golden bangs, “I am Cole. I came to warn you. To help.” He surged forward, and even though the guards moved forward to intercept, Wren waved them off. This boy was not a foe. He touched her arm, pleading that she listen, “People are coming to _hurt_ you again. But you already know.”

She found herself drawn to his gaze, her mind thinking more clearly, “Which people, Cole? What are they doing?” By the dread building in her, she knew his answer before he spoke it.

His voice dropped and he said exactly what was going through her mind, “The Templars are coming to hurt you.”

Ice spread through her stomach, and she struggled to keep her fear under control. Bile rose in her throat, and if it hadn’t been for the strange boys steady gaze, she might have been sick all over him. Images flashed in her mind of what happened in Ostwick- but the boy’s hand gripped her arm more firmly, almost painfully, bringing her back to the present.

Cullen jumped forward at the mention of Templars, startling Cole away from Wren, “ _Templars_? Is this how the Order responds to the Inquisition’s mage alliance? Unprovoked attack?”

Cole moved to one side, putting Wren between himself and the angry Commander, “The Red Templars belong to the Elder One.” His eyes turned back to the young mage, “You know him. He _knows_ you. _You_ took _his_ mages.” He spun away and pointed down the road from Haven. “There.” They could see the swarm of soldiers now, and standing atop a jut of rock was a Templar in strange armor- and a twisted creature towering over him.

“I know that man…” Cullen murmured to himself.

Cole looked over his shoulder to them, “He’s _very_ angry that you took his mages.”

The approaching army seemed like and endless swarm of ants over the distant hills. Swallowing her fear, she grabbed Cullen’s cloak, “Cullen! Give me a plan! Something. _Anything!_ ”

He revived, though it seemed difficult for him to look away from the Templar on the rock, “Haven is no fortress. If we are to withstand this onslaught, we must gain control of the field.” He pointed towards the secondary defensive line, “The trebuchets could be used to hit his forces directly and bring their numbers down before they can reach us.” Wren nodded, and signaled her companions and a few soldiers to follow them. Cullen turned to the mages and warriors behind him, and Wren left him to use them as he saw fit.

The first war machine was already being manned by front line soldiers, but they were rapidly being overrun by the foremost wave of Red Templars. It was apparent, in the first encounter, why Cole used that name for them- while all of them were filled with lyrium, some of the soldiers did not look human anymore- red lyrium jutted out from their bodies and they seemed crazed in their fighting style. These abominations didn’t even use weapons- only their own body and lyrium induced magical abilities. Warped and bloated with power, these monstrosities were just as hard to look upon as they were to fight.

Wren wasn’t sure how long their battle raged. It was skirmish after skirmish, first at one trebuchet, then at the other. She left Cassandra and Dorian with the first, and moved to the second with Blackwall, Solas, and Varric. They waded through pockets of battle, gathering surviving soldiers as the moved. She was wondering if they’d ever actually force the army to a stop, when the last machine hit the mountainside and her wish was granted- a huge avalanche tumbled down and, even at this distance, she could hear the screams of their enemies as they were crushed under a mountain’s worth of snow and rock.

Their celebration was short lived though. From behind one of the peaks, a great screech echoed. Overhead a shadow swooped down, a bright red glow forming at its front. Wren just began to make out its form before it destroyed their trebuchet with a blast of power. Two of the soldiers that had been aiming it died in the blast, but there was no time to waste, “Everyone to the gate!” Wren shouted, pushing her companions and the soldiers along.

The monster that flew overhead had a familiar shape, but its abilities were new to her. She had a good guess at what it might be, but all that mattered right now was getting her people to the safety of the Chantry, where they could regroup, and maybe come up with a plan. Inquisition forces were all rushing towards the interior of Haven, pursued by the Templars that were ahead of the avalanche. Unwilling to leave anyone behind, she stayed at the back of the retreat, pulling soldiers to their feet and blasting away enemies as they broke through each line of defense. By the time they made it to the Chantry, Haven was empty- only corpses remained behind her.

Chancellor Rodrick, of all people, was the one herding people inside. She didn’t notice the blood that heavily stained the front of his robes until he collapsed, and Cole appeared in time to catch him. The strange boy helped drag him inside to a chair, his blue eyes meeting hers as they passed, “He tried to stop a Templar. The blade went too deep. He is going to die.”

The cleric coughed out a laugh, “What a charming young man.”

Wren turned away and finally looked at the Chantries occupants. People were huddled in every corner, packed tightly, soldier and civilian alike. The wounded were being tended in the main aisle as best as they could be, while the dead were simply left where they’d dropped. From the whimpers and cries, it was obvious that the people thought their case hopeless now. She could see Blackwall holding a soldier down while a healer tried to pull arrows from his leg while Dorian used his magic to staunch the bleeding. Varric was helping a group of soldiers cover the dead with cloaks and blankets. Sera was with the cook, passing out bread and water to anyone who would take it. Wren couldn’t see Vivienne or Josephine, but she did not have the energy to fear for them- they were either here, or they were dead.

“Herald!” Cullen’s voice called out as he waded through the people, Cassandra and Solas following in his wake. His voice dropped as he got closer, likely trying to keep the panic down, “Our position is not good. That dragon stole back whatever time you managed to earn us.” This was not the news she had been hoping for from him. Worse, she was nearly positive it was not merely a dragon but something worse…

Cole spoke up from where he crouched nearby, tending to the Chancellor. “I’ve seen an Archdemon before, while I was in the Fade. It looked like _that._ ” He confirmed, staring at Wren. She had the unnerving thought that he might have actually been answering her internal question...

 Cullen scoffed, “I don’t care what it is- it just cut a path for the incoming army! They will kill _everyone_ in Haven!”

The strange boy shook his head, “The Elder One doesn’t care about the village. He only wants the Herald.” Solas took a step forward, his brow furrowed as he stared at their new companion.

Wren’s stomach clenched, and she took a step towards him, “Please Cole, do you know why he wants me?”

Those blue eyes dug into her soul, “I don’t, exactly. He’s too _loud._ ” He dropped his gaze, “It hurts to hear him… He wants to _kill_ you, and though he doesn’t care about anyone else, he’ll crush them anyway.” Her curled in on himself some, a pitiful whine to his voice, “I don’t like him.”

Commander Cullen sputtered, “You don’t-“ shaking his head, he turned to Wren, “Herald, there are _no_ tactics that make this survivable. The only thing that slowed them down was that avalanche. If we could use the remaining trebuchets, make one last slide…”

That was not an option to her, “If we do that, we would be bringing that avalanche here- down on our people. That is unacceptable.” Their soldiers did not _die_ to protect them, just for them to commit suicide.

Face grim, Cullen straightened his shoulders, “We’re dying, but we can decide how. Most don’t get that choice.” What had happened to the strong commander she’d come to know? What happened to the man who led their army and called the charge? Did he really see no other way? She stared, completely at a loss for what to say. His face was miserable, but it conveyed heavy remorse for the only choice he was giving them.

Once again, Cole spoke, “Chancellor Rodrick knows a way. He wants to help before he dies.”

They all turned in surprise, and watched the cleric struggle to speak. It took him time to explain the path that he’d found in his youth, and Wren cringed every time he coughed- more blood came with each one. But if this path was true… If it could lead the Inquisition to safety. Wren turned to the Commander, “What do you think Cullen? If I can keep the army distracted, can you make it work?”

“Possibly. _If_ he can show us the path.” He took a tentative step closer to her, worry and fear heavy on his face, “What of your escape?”

She turned away, unable to say what she was thinking- what they both knew. This time, there would be no strange woman to save her, no Rift to fall out of. She would not let others die for her, and if this Elder One wanted _her_ , then by the Old Gods, she would use her life to ensure the escape of the others. ‘ _Hmph. Now who is being the pessimist?_ ’

There was a light touch on her arm as Cullen voiced his hope, though his voice betrayed him, “Perhaps you will surprise it? Find a way…” but he could not finish the thought. They both understood that the avalanche she intended to cause was going to bury everything. There would be no escape.

He turned abruptly and started barking orders to move out, getting everyone organized rapidly to evacuate along the route the Chancellor would show them. A group of soldiers jogged to the doors and Cullen returned to her, his mask professional. “They’ll load the trebuchets while you distract the Elder One. You _must_ keep him occupied until we are past the tree line.” She nodded, and turned to follow the soldiers. Behind her, Cullen said with a thick voice, “If we have a chance- if _you_ are to have a chance- let that thing hear you!”

As she and the soldiers checked their weapons and armor, Cassandra and Solas appeared beside her. The Seeker’s face was firm, “You will need help-“

“-No Cassandra.” Wren cut her off harshly, “Cullen will need you here. The soldiers need strong leadership. I cannot let you come with me- I will spell you to sleep if I have to.” It was no idle threat. Wren would not let her friends throw their lives away when the Inquisition needed them still. Especially when her life alone was all that was required. The Seeker snarled, but did not argue further. Wren turned to Solas, finding it difficult to speak, “Please, keep Dinall distracted? He has not seen that I’m leaving yet, and he would just try to follow. He-he can help the Inquisition.” The elf gave her a short nod and she swallowed the rest of the words she wanted to say.

His mask did not break, but his voice was only a whisper, “Dar'eth Shiral, Da’ean’ma.”

She smiled weakly in return, “Sule tael tasalal, lethallen.”

Before she could change her mind or anyone could stop her, she signaled the soldiers and they pushed open the door, hurrying out into the cold night.

*

The soldiers had escaped before the Archdemon swooped down, and for that alone, Wren was thankful. Enough lives had been lost already. So here she was, alone, unarmed, and struggling to stand, as the _Elder One_ stalked towards her. He wasn’t simply twisted, he was barely human. Red Lyrium sprouted from his face and body. His limbs were inhumanely long with his fingers as long claws. A ground-shaking thunder sounded behind her, and she turned partially to see the dragon galloping towards them. Archdemon on one side, a man who would be a god on the other. ‘ _I’m sorry Cullen. There will be no surprising escape now._ ’

The twisted creature’s voice turned her back to him, “Pretender. You toy with forces beyond your ken, no more.” He left no room to misinterpret the threat. This was truly going to be her end.

‘ _If I am to die, let it be on my feet fighting!’_ Her mind became oddly calm, and she stood tall before him, “Your intimidation tactics will not work on me, monster. I am not afraid.”

He was confident in his power, and in his quarry’s helplessness, “Words mortals often hurl at the Darkness. Once, they were mine. They are always lies... Know me. Know what you have pretended to be.” He walked forward, flame licking his unnoticed by him, though its heat was burning her skin. “Exalt the Elder One. The _Will_ that is Corypheus!”

’ _I have a name for you now, beast, one that does not suggest godhood._ ’

In his hand was a strange orb with swirling patterns to it. He raised it up and it flickered with red light until it seemed to be consumed with it, “I am here for the Anchor. The process of removing it, begins _now._ ” Corypheus flung his hand towards her and the same red light sparked along his arm until it was filling his hand. Her Mark hissed and crackled in response, and her arm leapt up towards him on its own. She hissed as pain seared her nerves, and she gripped her wrist, trying to gain control.

“It is your fault, “Herald.”” His measured steps brought him closer to her, “You interrupted a ritual _years_ in the making, and instead of dying, you _stole_ its purpose.” Magic pushed against her while pulling at the Mark- the _Anchor_ in her hand. Her own magic wrapped around the mark, bound to it protectively, and battled his onslaught. “I do not know how you survived, but what marks you as ‘touched,’ what you flail at Rifts, _I_ crafted to assault the very heavens!” She collapsed under the strain of power tangling around her hand, but she did not give. Even if she were to die, she was going to fight with everything that she had. He taunted her and teased her, but she kept him occupied, she kept him talking.

It was her life she would give in the end.

Her life for that of the Inquisition. Her life, to give her allies, no- friends- a chance to escape and stop this madman. Her life. Not thrown away, but given freely.

Frustrated, he threw her against the war machine, his power withdrawn from the Mark, “The Anchor is permanent. You have _spoiled_ it with your stumblings.”

Despite the pain, she felt a smile of triumph starting to creep onto her face. At least she was foiling his plans. To her right she saw an abandoned sword, and she snatched it and stood. ‘ _I_ will _die on my feet!_ ’

Corypheus did not seem to care. “So be it. I will begin again, find another way to give the world the nation- and _God_ \- it requires.” His pet demon flared its wings and opened its jaws, and she knew that her time was up.

By divine providence, a flare shot up deep in the mountain pass. They had made it. The Inquisition was safe. Her job was almost complete. The smile spread until she was nearly laughing, “Your arrogance will be your downfall. I die willingly- knowing you brought your end upon yourself!” Wren turned and kicked the lever that held the trebuchet in place. The giant boulder that it held was flung above them to the guarding mountain. With a scream of rage, the demon snatched up its master as the mountain crumbled down towards them. Knowing it was pointless but determined to try anyways, Wren fled towards the closest hill, hoping to find shelter on the leeward side. She never made it though. A dozen steps away from the trebuchet something tripped her and sent her tumbling down into a pit far below.

*

‘ _You must get up. Cold. Biting and stinging. Ice in my lungs. But it’s over… No! It is not! You MUST get up! I cannot heal them. Their pain is too great._ You _are needed.’_

…

An echo pestered her drowsing mind. She snarled to herself and attempted to move away from it, but moving made her flinch and brought her awareness to the surface with a flash of pain. Her shoulders ached and her back felt stiff with pain. Something in her ribs twisted, and she screamed at the sudden burst. The sound echoed oddly, and she opened her eyes. It was dark but for the bright green glow coming from her hand. She was in a tunnel of some sort, rotted wood and piles of snow around her, but the rest of the tunnel was ice and rock. _‘Where am I?_ ’ Fingers searching the ground, she found herself without a weapon again, but it seemed that she had all her parts mostly intact. One shoulder was definitely dislocated, and the ribs were agony, but she was not bleeding much- though that might simply have been the cold. Or time. How long had she been… wherever this was? She listened, but only a distant moan of wind could be heard. Silence was her only companion.

Shakily, she got to her feet and stumbled forward. There was only one direction she could go as the way behind her was blocked with snow and ice. Why not. Better to die trying to save herself, than lay down and waiting for the inevitable. Her progress was slow, but steady. After a while, the cold seeped into her, and the pain became more manageable. She was almost looking forward to the slow death that awaited her- at least by the time it took her, it would be painless. Still, she moved. It didn’t take long to realize that she was in the mines that had once been below Haven. By the time she’d arrived in the town, they’d been closed off for some months due to instability. Shame, really, since the exit was behind her. Still, it gave her a little hope.

Noises echoed ahead of her, and for a brief moment she hoped that it was someone from the Inquisition- but as she rounded the corner, Despair turned to stare at her with its empty eyes. ‘ _Andraste- why does it always have to be demons?!_ ’ With no staff to help her channel battle magics, she did the only thing she could think of- flung her Marked hand towards the cluster of beasts and poured her will through it. The flash of green light and the twisting vortex that appeared after was a shock, and she stumbled backwards as it sucked the life out of the beasts. When they were gone, it snapped closed again, leaving her in near darkness. _‘Maker… What was_ that _?’_

Unwilling to linger in case more demons appeared, she hurried down the path. The air felt colder, fresher, as she went, and the distant moan of wind she’d heard before began to grow in volume. Finally, against all hope, she saw an opening- a cave mouth! She ran towards it as best as she could, and stopped at the entrance. Beyond her lay open land, but it was nearly impossible to see anything. A blizzard had descended on their mountains, and it cloaked the world in a blanket of grey. Chewing on her lip for a moment, she debated staying in the safety of the cave. Going out into  a blizzard was suicide… but of course, so was standing up to Corypheus, and she’d managed to cheat that grizzly death.

Bracing herself for the wind and cold, she stepped out into the gale.

Each step was slow and measured. She had eternity to find her way. Every now and then she would stumble across some little bit of debris- a dropped doll, a broken wagon wheel, an empty lantern. Every item told her that she was, miraculously, on the same path that her friends had taken to escape. That spark of hope was all that kept her going as the blizzard howled around her.

There was a brief moment where her hope had soared- she stumbled into a brace of trees and found remnants of campfires- but the ashes were frozen. The fires that had burned here was done and the people long gone. Wren had stood at the cold pit, staring at the ash and dust until the blizzard had covered it in snow. Only the distant, mournful cry of wolves roused her and forced her to move again. That was no hunting call they gave, but still, she would rather not wait around for them to find her.

Hill after hill, valley after valley, the wolves cries echoed around her in a heartbreaking song. Her feet had long since lost feeling, and her face burned. Lips chapped and crystals forming on her lashes, she stumbled her way through the cold. The trail of debris she’d been following had run dry- covered by snow some time ago. There was no sense of time here, no way to tell even what time it was. Could the sun even break through to her?

Winter was a harsh mistress, and it was taking its toll on her. Her mind stopped even thinking, just as empty as the hills around her. Soon, the cold would claim her.

Something in the distance caught her eye, and she struggled to lift her head and look. A spark? Light. The sun? No. A fire… Fires. A camp. If it was the Red Templars, she prayed for a swift death. If it was the Inquisition, she prayed only that they could see her. She lifted an arm and her voice came out a whisper, but that was all she could do before collapsing in the snow. Voices. Shouts. And suddenly, the smell of wood smoke and old vellum with just a hint of clove, surrounded her. Something soft and heavy was wrapped around her body and she was lifted up in strong arms. Someone was murmuring in her ear, pleas and encouragement, but she had no voice left to respond. She sank into the cold darkness that awaited her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! That was a tough chapter to write. I didn’t want to drag it on forever, but I didn’t want to end it too soon. Blah. For those of you that don’t already know, the main quests in DA:I are named with phrases from the Chant of Light. I’ve followed this theme for the names of my chapters, so I had to include the next line. I’m amused. Silly little facts. 
> 
> Translations:  
> Dar'eth Shiral, Da’ean’ma. – Go safely, Wren. (Da’ean means Little Bird, but by Solas making it possessive, “my Little Bird,” it becomes a more proper noun. So, Da’ean is Little bird, Da’ean’ma is Wren -his Little bird.  
> Sule tael tasalal, lethallen.- Until we meet again, my friend.


	10. The Light Shall Lead Her Safely

For four full days and nights and most of the next day, Wren had slept while the mages and healers worked frantically to heal her vicious wounds and reverse the effects of the prolonged exposure to the cold. She’d been roused only enough to down potions of Elfroot and lyrium, before being given sleeping draughts to push her back down again. In her brief moments of lucidity, she saw many faces around her- Dinall and Solas among the most frequent, since they were among her primary healers. Cullen was often standing close by, snapping at anyone that came to bother them while they healed her. More than once she woke with his heavy cloak draped over her, and the Commander sleeping in a chair beside her bed. Cassandra came from time to time, usually during the early morning hours when the others were sleeping. She would read to Wren in a low, soothing voice, unaware that the young mage was often awake and listening. And whenever she needed something but had no strength to say it aloud, Cole would appear beside her, with soothing words and gentle hands and whatever it was she had desired.

Sometimes she dreamed strange dreams, where she sat on the peak of a frozen mountain as wolves cried around her, or where she stood in the rubble of Haven and watched it burn. Sometimes… sometimes nightmares ripped her from her peaceful slumber and screams loud enough to echo for miles would tumble from her throat. Those were rare, and one of the many reasons they kept her on such heavy sleeping draughts.

Finally, late in the evening, she woke naturally to the sound of shouting. It was nothing new, but it was getting old. Earlier that day, Cole had appeared at her bedside and helped her to her feet so she could wobble around the camp a bit. The Inner Council had been arguing then. Some time that afternoon, Dorian came to poke at her and brought a few of the serving staff with him- along with a large tub filled with steaming water. She’d kissed his cheek and then shooed him out of the tent. The Council had been arguing however, and that made relaxing in the water nearly impossible. A quiet and gentle Cullen had come with her dinner, but even with him away the dispute continued outside her tent. So when she woke to them arguing yet again, she rolled her eyes and sat up, watching their bickering while propped up on one elbow.

“You should be resting.” A calm voice spoke from beside her. Mother Giselle had lately come to read her the Chant of Light in the evenings. Whether out of some kindness, or a desire to fully convert her, she was unsure.

“They’ve been at it for days.” Wren groused as Cullen threw up his hands and stormed off. Josephine and Leliana soon left, and Cassandra paced before the tent, still roiling in anger.

“They have that luxury, thanks to you.” The Mother smiled softly. “The enemy could not follow, and with time to doubt, we turn to blame.” They both looked out at the councilors, all throwing off anger and frustration like waves. Soldiers scuttled well around them, and people cringed at every noise. The tone of the camp was tense and hopelessly lost. “In-fighting may threaten as much as Corypheus.”

The mage sighed and struggled to sit up, “Exactly. They are wasting their time yelling at each other, while nothing actually gets done.” She knew they’d moved camps at least twice since her near miraculous arrival, but the moves had been more for fear of straggling Red Templars, than for any direct decision to _go_ somewhere.

The older woman leaned towards her a little, “Our leaders struggle because of what we all witnessed. We saw our savior stand against the impossible… and fall. Now we have seen her _rise again_.” Wren shook her head, moving to the edge of the bed and swinging her legs over. She wrapped her feet slowly and slid them into her boots with deft ease- particularly since only last night she hadn’t been able to even go this far. The cleric continued, “The more the enemy seems beyond our understanding, the more miraculous your actions appear, and the more our path seems ordained.” They were back to this, the question of not only divinity, but Wren’s own faith. How could she say what she believed, when Corypheus’ words echoed still in her ears…? The Black Throne… empty.

She shook her head, “I am sorry, Mother. I do not know that I _can_ believe.” Standing up, she turned away from the cleric and walked to the edge of the tent. Her body was nearly healed, despite how stiff and weak she still felt, but her mind and soul were torn apart. In her lucid moments she had given them her account of what happened, sticking to what Corypheus had revealed of his plans, past and present. Almost she had hoped that they would get angry with her, yell at her for being an impostor, a pretender as he had claimed. Instead, they only seemed more in awe of her. Here was a woman who had twice stood against a near- _god_ , and prevailed.

She leaned against one of the heavy poles and looked out at the camp. It was quiet now. It felt hollow and hopeless. For what could one apostate mage do, when she could not simply sacrifice herself for the cause?

Behind her, Mother Giselle’s soft voice floated lyrically through the cold air as the woman walked slowly towards her.

“Shadows fall, and hope has fled.

Steal your heart, the Dawn will come.

The Night is long, and the Path is dark.

Look to the sky, for one day soon,

The Dawn will come.”

Leliana’s voice joined in, high and so optimistic, and the spymaster stood as well, walking towards where the cleric and mage stood. Her eyes were bright and she smiled at Wren.

Others began to join, moving towards Wren like moths to a flame. Some of them kneeled before her, heads bowed as they sang. Others stared in open admiration, a supplication, an offering. Wren watched, wide eyed as the entire camp came before her. They were not singing to Andraste… They were singing to _her._ Her throat tightened and she saw among them Cullen, standing proudly and offering his voice. His eyes were bright and so filled with emotion that it hurt to see him.

She understood what they meant. She did not need to be perfect, she just need to give them hope. In these dark times, she was their Dawn.

When the song finished, the entire camp seemed to come alive. People laughed and talked loudly, some wiped tears from their eyes, others turned to throw arms around a friend. Wren watched, feeling more like an outsider than before- but in a very different way.

Solas strode up, a strange look on his face, “A word?”

Wren turned without question, and followed him out of camp. He led her to a nearby ledge, where a torch stood lonely sentinel. With a wave of his hand, it lit with flickering veilfire. The older mage looked out over the mountains, hands behind relaxed behind his back, as Wren came up beside him.

“A wise woman, worth heading.” He said, speaking of Mother Giselle, “Her kind understand the moments that can unify a cause- or shatter it.” She tucked her head, feeling that he had scolded her for dismissing the cleric’s words. She knew that Solas was not Andrastian, and as far as she knew, he didn’t follow the Dalish gods either. However, he was making a point about the circumstance, not the faith itself. ‘ _He means to imply that, while I do not need to encourage worship, I should not dissuade it either, if it means the Inquisition falls._ ’

Solas watched the flames as they shuddered and wavered from winds that they could not feel, “The Orb Corypheus carried, the power he used against you…” He paused, as if unsure, but pushed on, “It is Elven.” Wren’s eyes were wide at this sudden revelation, and she wondered how long he’d known. “Corypheus used the Orb to open the Breach. However, unlocking it must have caused the explosion that destroyed the Conclave.” His stance shifted and his face grew a harsh, “I do not yet know how he survived… Nor am I certain how the others will react when they learn of the Orb’s origin.” He was nervous of _her_ reaction. It was something that most people would not be able to read, but she could see the agitation in how he moved and stood.

Wren dipped her head, keeping her voice low as well, “Thank you, Hahren, for telling me.” He subtly relaxed, and waited patiently- his way of giving her leave to ask questions, “What _is_ the Orb, Solas? How did you find out?”

His voice took on the teaching tone he used when explaining new things to her, it was familiar, and comforting, “I have seen such things as you described while in ancient ruins and the Fade. They were Foci, used to channel lost magics. They came in pairs or groups, meant to work in tandem either with each other, or with a group of mages.” That calm did not last, and again, she saw anger there, “Corypheus may _think_ it Tevinter, but his empire’s magic was built on the bones of _my_ people. Knowing or not, he risks our alliance. I cannot allow it.”

For a brief moment, Solas became someone she did not know. This was not her friend and fellow apostate speaking. This was someone who stood like an angry Lord, ready to declare war on a common enemy, and demanding the aid of his allies. She was cowed briefly by the power that rippled off of him in his anger. Almost instinctively, she countered it with calm confidence, though there was turmoil inside, “I will ensure that does not happen. Nor will I allow Thedas to blame ou-your people, for something brought about by a mad man.” She’d almost said something unfortunate, but managed to save herself. He did not seem to have noticed. They stood like two nobles before a war table, negotiating the next battle. But the moment passed, and he gave her an approving nod. Relaxing, she sighed and looked out over the darkness in the valley below, “It does not matter much, though, if we remain lost in this place forever.”

Solas gave her a tight lipped smile, “I have thought on that, Da’ean’ma. The Inquisition cannot remain here, obviously. But not just anywhere will be suitable.” He walked to in front of the torch, standing proudly against the darkness, “By attacking the Inquisition, Corypheus has changed it… And changed _you._ ” He looked over his shoulder, at her, his eyes intense, “Scout to the North. _Be_ their guide. “ He pointed out in the valley, north of where they stood, “There is a place that waits for a force worthy to hold it.” Walking closer to her, his smile remained, “A place where the Inquisition can build. Grow. You must be the one to lead them there.”

*

And so she led them.

When she had returned to camp, she immediately called the council and explained ‘her’ plan. They would start packing camp while she scouted a safe route for them through the mountains. At his request, she did not mention Solas, but instead said that there must be a place for them somewhere. There was evidence of roads and paths under the snow- surely there would be a place they could put down roots. Moved by her confidence and enthusiasm, the agreed readily and began planning. She packed what she could so that at first light she would be ready to go. Solas had agreed to scout with her, and he woke her at dawn.

For three days the camp followed her trail. Three days, they only set up enough to eat and sleep, before continuing on. Her body was slow to heal at first, but with continued potions and a desperate sort of persistence, she felt her strength returning. She pushed herself and the Inquisition forces- for what other choice was there? Die from Corypheus or die from the cold.

Solas was confident in his knowledge, and on the morning of the fourth day, he could not hide the smile on his face. When she crested the last rocky edge and looked out at what they’d found, he swept his arm dramatically to include the breathtaking vista, “Skyhold.”

It was magnificent. Towering spires, an impossible bridge that spanned a yawning chasm, walls that were so high as to be mountains themselves! This was not merely a place to stay- this was the heart of a _kingdom_. The whole of the Inquisition could be here, and then some! She turned around, grinning widely, and threw her arms around his neck, “It’s perfect!”

*

Between getting back to the main group and actually leading everyone into Skyhold, it was the full day before the last of their scouts trudged into the inner walls, mouths gaping at their treasure. Despite the collapses and piles of debris, most of the structure looked sound. Leliana immediately sent ravens for dwarven crews who would help rebuild the castle in all its glory. For the first night, however, they set up tents and cleared out rooms on the bottom floors. The first order was to get the sick and wounded settled in. Many people had become sick from exposure and tight quarters, but they also still carried wounded from the battle at Haven.

It was near the surgeon’s tents that Wren found a sort of meeting going on between Cassandra, Solas, and oddly, Vivienne. “This _thing_ is not a stray puppy you can make into a pet. It has no business being here.”

Solas stood between Vivienne and Cole, “Wouldn’t you say the same of an apostate?” He swept his hand to indicate himself, and Wren as she approached. Vivienne simply gave him a deadpan look, likely trying to indicate that yes, she would. _‘Why did I agree to that vile woman being around here?_ ’

Cassandra turned to the youngest mage, “Herald, do you think Cole is perhaps a mage, given his abilities?”

Solas answered for her, “He _can_ cause people to forget him, or even fail entirely to notice him.” He turned to Wren, “However, these are not the abilities of a mage, as you know.” He straightened and glanced over his shoulder at where the boy in question was sitting. “It seems that Cole is a Spirit.” Wren had wondered about the strange young man, and had intended on speaking to Solas about him. If Cole was a spirit… Was he possessing someone?

Vivienne spoke with obvious disgust, “It is a _demon_.”

Solas was unruffled, “If you prefer. Although the truth is somewhat more complex.”

While Cassandra questioned him and he attempted to explain to her what a spirit, and more importantly, what _Cole_ was, Wren turned to where the man in question had been sitting. “Where did he go?”

They stopped, Vivienne still disgusted, but looking nervous, and Cassandra looking exasperated, “If none of us remember him, he could be anywhere.”

Solas gave a tight lipped smile and turned, and Wren followed his gaze. There was Cole, walking among the injured. Wren nodded, relieved. She owed this boy… Spirit… She owed Cole. He’d warned them of the Templars, he’d kept her calm while the made the plans, and she had a vague suspicion that it had been him rousing her after she fell into the mine. She would risk Vivienne’s wrath. The Inquisition could use more allies- especially ones as compassionate, if strange, as young Cole.

*

It seemed like everyone was getting settled, but every time Wren tried to help, people would wave her off and insist she had more important things to do. Honestly, she had nothing to do. So she stood to one side, under one of the young trees and as out of the way as possible. Soldiers, servants, mages- everyone bustled about, intent on their tasks. She felt… listless.

Amidst a swarm of messengers and soldiers stood Commander Cullen, and she found herself drifting towards him. He worked with a deft hand, directing everyone to exactly where he needed them or passing them off with a quick message or task. The table before him had a rough sketch of Skyhold and some of the surrounding area, obviously drawn in by multiple hands as the scouts gathered more information.

There was a lull in the movement, and for a time, Cullen was left alone with her. When he looked up at her shuffled approach, it was obvious that he’d known she was there. He gave her a tip of his head and waved a hand towards the map, “We did as well as we could in Haven, but nothing could have prepared us for an _Archdemon_. Skyhold though… It has impressive defenses, and just from the Towers, our scouts can see for miles around. We will have warning if anyone comes.” He pointed to a few small passes that were unfinished in the local map, “I have sent scouts along these trails to see where they lead and if there are good places to build additional watchtowers. Over here there is a valley that is easy enough to access, and will make for good grazing in the summer- assuming we are here that long. The castle has multiple water sources, so that was already taken care of, but I have the soldiers keeping eyes out for any other springs, just in case.”

Wren smiled wryly, “Do you intend to sleep at all, Commander?” She’d meant it as a bit humor- his efficiency was impressive, if overly cautious- but he seemed to take the question seriously.

He sighed, leaning on the table, “If Corypheus attacks us here we may not be able to retreat. I wouldn’t want to…” The last part was said nearly under his breath, and she understood the sentiment. If they were stalked to this fortress in the middle of nowhere, there would be no place in Thedas that they could escape to. “Work on Skyhold will be underway shortly. Guard rotations, quarters, and all the military essentials are ready. This place should be well underway within a couple weeks.” He turned a little, giving her one of his half smiles- though it was not nearly as playful as they had once been, “Perhaps I will sleep then.”

She laughed softly for a moment, however, the gravity of what he said could not be ignored.  She remembered their argument about the mages, and his attempt to approach her before they had been attacked in Haven. More clearly, though, she remembered his voice, his warm arms, his tears, as he carried her into camp. She remembered waking up to him slumped over her bed while she healed, his hand gripping hers tightly even in sleep. She remembered the look in his eyes as his voice joined the army in singing their praise to her. The thought that he might not have made it out…“Our escape from Haven… It was close. I’m relieved that you- that so many, made it out.” She barely recovered her near slip. He obviously didn’t think of her, a _mage_ , as anything personally special. Pushing her luck was not going to help.

He was suddenly closer, standing before her, “As am I…” He watched her, searching her face for something, before looking away. It was obvious that the losses weighed heavily on him, and she felt embarrassed for what she’d said and ashamed for bringing up an obviously sore subject. She turned to leave.

“You stayed behind.” His voice stopped her, and she turned a little, surprised by the emotion in his voice “You could have-!” Jaw clenching, he took a moment to regain his nearly lost composure. “ ... I will not allow the events at Haven to happen again.” His hand brushed her arm, sending shivers up her spine, “You have my word.” A messenger came up then, and he turned away to address her. Wren was left standing there, confused about this man, but feeling a flutter in her chest. The way he’d said it seemed so heavy with meaning…

*

Six days later, the work crews arrived. Leliana must have rushed them, or perhaps they had been on their way to Haven already, but their arrival was perfectly timed with a sudden influx of people. There was a desperate need for more of the rooms around the keep. No time could be wasted and debris that had been too large or unstable of the soldiers to move was shifted aside. Wren wasn’t at Skyhold when the workers came, but she arrived late the next afternoon. While most of the people in camp had been too nervous around her to allow her to help, the scouts and soldiers who were clearing ancient roads and establishing safe travel routes out of the mountains were more than happy for her help. They trusted her with battle and surviving the wilds than the in-camp crews did with a menial task. With Blackwall and Serra’s enthusiastic help, they’d scouted and cleared the main road in a few days, marked a few secondary routes, and even found a couple caves where travelers could shelter along the way. Returning to Skyhold to see so much of the large rubble moved made her smile widely. The Keep was becoming more and more a place they could be proud of.

Cassandra stood with the other Councilors, but stepped to the side and waved Wren over. The others dispersed with small nods and smiles, and she was left alone with the Seeker. The woman turned, drawing Wren’s gaze with hers. There was a family pulling a reluctant nag, their belongings tightly packed on top of the beast. The father was obviously a soldier, come to join the Inquisition. “They arrive daily, from every corner of Thedas. For some, they come to aid our cause, for others, Skyhold has become a pilgrimage.” They watched for a moment longer, before Cassandra began to walk forward, taking Wren through a knot of soldiers, “If word has reached these people, it will have reached Corypheus.” It was a worry on all their minds, and a reason that Wren had been so desperate to stay busy- if she lingered on it too long...Cassandra continued, “We have the walls and numbers to put up a good fight here… But this threat is far beyond the war we anticipated- the _simple_ fight between mages and Templars.”

Wren nodded, unsure of where this was going, “It is why the people come. The Mage Rebellion may be over, but the real threat has been revealed.”

Cassandra gave a dip of her head, leading Wren on a meandering path, “Just so. But we know now what allowed you stand against Corypheus.  What drew _him_ to _you_.”

The mage shook her head, lifting her hand and flexing it around the Anchor, “This. Whatever it is, whatever it was meant to do, he wanted it.  Now that I’ve ‘ _corrupted_ its purpose,’ he wants me dead.”

The Seeker watched her with a strange stare, “The _Anchor_ has power, yes, but it is not what _draws_ him to you still. It is not what brings the pilgrims to this hidden fortress.” They came around a wall and up the main stairs. “ _Your_ sacrifice brought us safely out of Haven and your decisions took us to Skyhold. You are the creatures rival because of what _you_ did. And we know it. _All_ of us.”

Wren followed with growing unease, ‘ _What is she getting at?_ ’

The came to the landing, and Leliana stood waiting for them with a strange and beautiful sword laid reverently across her arms. The Seeker continued her speech, for Wren now recognized what this was, “The Inquisition requires a leader- the one who has, _already,_ been leading it.” The mages eyes were wide and it was only then that she realized there was a massive crowd of people below them- soldiers, pilgrims, mages, stable hands, and her companions. All eyes were on her, hopeful and bright with excitement. They looked at her with awe, with reverence, but also with respect. Cassandra came up next to her, smiling, “You.”

Her stomach churned under the attention, and much like with the Redcliffe mages, Wren was utterly confused. Who in Thedas gave this kind of power to a _mage_ _apostate_? More importantly… She’d read the writ by the Divine, and knew that all of the council must agree on this. Cullen...? She turned to Cassandra, her voice low, “Y-you all agreed? It was unanimous?”

The Seeker nodded, “All of these people can thank you for still living. They willingly follow”

Wren laughed a little nervously, “You didn’t answer the question.”

Her friend shrugged, but signaled for Wren to take the sword, “Giving anyone this kind of power is disconcerting, but you have proven worthy. We do not fear that you will use it for your own means- but only for the good of the Inquisition, and all of Thedas.”

Wren felt like all of Thedas was watching her now- in a way, they would be. She looked at the intricately carved weapon, and knew it to be a symbol of power, but also capable of killing. It was beautiful, and deadly. Her hand reached out and she ran a finger along the blade before gripping the sword tightly. She expected it to be a cumbersome thing, but as she lifted it up, it felt light and practically hummed with power. Her fingers gripped tightly, “Corypheus is a threat to _all_ of Thedas, and the Inquisition will stand against that threat- even when it claims himself a _god_.” What well of confidence did this spring from? Who was this audacious creature using her body? But no, even though a mask of calm was on her face now, she knew that the alternative options were limited.

Cassandra stepped to her side, addressing the crowd, “Have our people been told?”

Josephine stepped forward in the crowd, “They have. And soon, all of Thedas “

The Seeker turned to where Commander Cullen stood in the crowd, “Commander- will they follow?”

Cullen gave Wren a dazzling smile with such pride and heart that it made her dizzy, he turned and addressed his soldiers and the mages, “Inquisition! Will you follow?” The crowd cheered. “Will you fight?” The cheers were louder, and some of them drew swords or lifted staffs, “Will we triumph?” The roar was deafening as the entire population below shouted. “Your Leader. Your Herald!” Cullen turned, pulling his sword free and pointing it up at her, “Your _Inquisitor_!” The crowd roared and for a time, even Wren felt that they could do _anything._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a bridge chapter to wrap up the first part of Inquisition with a neat little bow. I’m really looking forward to the next part, but I’m debating how much of the actual game to include. There’s so much that goes on, I might well skip large chunks so that we can get to the good bits. So from here on, it will probably be very little ‘in game’ (unless pertinent) and mostly what Wren does in camp or in Skyhold, since everything else is playable.


	11. Waters of the Fade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Trigger warning*  
> I won’t do this often, but for a few chapters. This one starts with a panic attack, so if that’s too much for you skip down just a bit to the paragraph that starts “Someone had her face in their hands.” That’s the safest place where you don’t miss anything too important.

‘ _Maker. Creators. Gods of Old and Gods never spoken for! What in Thedas have I gotten myself into?!_ ’ Wren sat on the edge of her bed, head in her hands and elbows on her knees. Lungs burning and heart racing, she fought against the desire to simply vomit all over the _lovely_ linens that were currently covering her _lovely_ bed, in her _lovely_ room with the _loveliest_ view in all the castle. Josephine had been so _pleased_ with herself when she’d shown Wren to her new rooms. While they’d been ‘crowning’ their Inquisitor, the servants had been making sure the room was ready and moving all of Wren’s belongings into it. The ambassador had led her up here with a huge smile and left here to “get settled before the work starts”. Just… Just _thinking_ about the room and why she had it was making it worse. She broke out in a cold sweat, her clothes clinging to her body and suffocating her further. Toes curled  tightly and legs tensing, her whole body swayed  as if it might topple off the bed. Thoughts flashed through her mind faster than she could grab them, spiraling out of control and into the realm of true panic.

There were people who actually _relied_ on her now! Expectations to be met. Nobles to placate. Letters to write. Recruits to be inspired. Demons to defeat. A tear in the Veil to fix. And of course, a madman to destroy, if he didn’t slaughter her and everyone else first.

All on her.

Her shoulders. Her troubles. Her mistakes.

It wasn’t going to stop. She’d make it worse. She’d tear the Veil and spill the void unto the world!

They would know. They would blame her- rightly. It would be her fault and _everyone would know._ They’d send Templars for her. They’d laugh, and send Templars for her. And the Templars…

She screamed in her mind, feeling like her very soul was going to shatter. ‘ _Andreste, help!’_

“Fire, like a river through my veins. Hands shaking. Burning fear- shame. The Templars coming for me again- Make it stop! My hands are shaking.” A familiar voice spoke from nearby and she felt the bed sag beside her under someone’s weight. “No, you aren’t going to die, Herald. Breathe. Calm. Remember the place in the valley? Remember his touch. Calm eyes. Comforting silence. It was good then. It will be good now.” A hand touched her back and the warmth from it spread. She took a shuddering breath, and slowly turned her head to meet Cole’s eyes. “There.” He said softly, “You can see the light again and the world has not gone out. _He_ can help, or the other. Both? Yes, both. It’s alright.” The Spirit’s voice was barely a murmur now, following her thoughts as the waxed and waned, but helping her come back to center each time. “I can help. But _he’s_ better. Quiet comfort, just like the first, but older, wiser. Soft murmur of voice and thought.” Wren flinched as another thought shot through her mind like lightning and shattered the gentle waters Cole had created for her floating mind. It was like a sudden storm in the cove, and the tumbling waves threatened to capsize her again. Her teeth clenched and a keening whimper escaped her throat, but Cole gripped her shoulders, “No! You know that isn’t right. He cares-” He stopped, his fingers loose again, “Alright, _that_ one, instead.” And then he was gone.

Awash in the terrors of her mind, Wren felt like part of her was drifting away from herself. She could feel the cold floor under her- when did she get there?- feel the hot tears that streaked her face, feel the clenching muscles that kept her curled in a ball- but the rest of her was locked in this body, wracked by wave after wave of terror. Her breath was so short and shallow that she was losing connection with her body, the edges of her vision frayed into darkness- and in the distance, she could hear something dark and twisted laughing at her…

Someone had her face in their hands. Someone was talking to her, calmly and softly, but with a firmness that Cole had been lacking. Someone brushed the hair from her face and wiped the tears from her eyes. They gathered her tight form into their arms and carried her with ease to the couch before the fire. He sat down and kept her tight against his chest and lap, rocking a little and shushing her sobbing cries until they became soft whimpers. Her breathing steadied, and her eyes were no longer tightly shut, but open to little slits. Now Wren’s body shook with tiny tremors as her muscles struggled to compensate for how hard they’d been clenched.

Dinall whispered softly, his head laying on top of hers, “Hush now sorora, pace et cessabit, _pace_ Sidas, pace.” Their bodies rocked back and forth, back and forth, until her breathing was nearly calm. “There you are, Sidas. It is better now?” The question wasn’t directed at her, and she heard a body shift next to them.

Wren opened her eyes a little and looked across from her where Cole had perched himself on the arm of the couch. Those blue eyes stared deep into her, before he looked up at Dinall, “Yes. The storm stopped. It is still hard, but she is calm.” He closed his eyes and tipped his head, listening, “Gentle. Always so gentle. Brother, family, all of it. He understands. He already knows. It is better.” Cole cocked his head and looked curiously at Wren, “Your friends would understand. They know it is hard, and they hurt. But it had to be done. You were the right choice. They all know it. Even both of _them_. They agree- finally.”

She gave a soft snort of laughter, just a brief bit, but it was enough. Cole unfolded himself from his perch and stood, “I should go. She trusts you. She’s safe with you.” And he was gone again.

A rumbling chuckle from the chest she was curled against brought her eyes up to her circle brother’s. He stared down at her with love and compassion, and it made her feel embarrassed, “I’m sorry… That you had to see this again.” She whispered hoarsely.

His hand rubbed soothing circles on her back, and he let her stretch out a bit, “Hush Sidas. You know I am always here for you. And apparently, so is that strange friend of yours.”

She shook her head and wiggled off of his lap so that she was sitting next to him, slightly more dignified, “You shouldn’t have to be, though. How many times have you had to pick me up off the floor like that?”

With a sympathetic smile, he shook his head, “It doesn’t matter, because I will do it a thousand more times if I need to.” Looking more serious now, he stared at the fire, “I wish you would tell them. To put this kind of burden on you, when you already carry so much…” He shook his head again and glanced at her from the corner of his eye, “You should have told them what happened in the Circle, and after.”

Wren sighed, and rubbed her forehead. This was a conversation they’d had a few times now. “No Dinall, I won’t burden them with my frivolous past. It doesn’t matter- not now. I will do my job and finish this.”

There was a growl of threat in his voice, “Laraina, if you do not tell them, _I will._ ” Those from the circle only used her name when they were very serious, or _very_ angry. Dinall meant business.

Ash fluttered from the fireplace and an ember snapped and popped out, landing on the hearthstones. Her eyes followed its tumbling path through the air and watched it extinguish. “They will _pity_ me.”

“No Sidas, they will _wonder_ at your strength and admire your fortitude.” He sounded so sure. She wanted to believe him. It would be so wonderful to believe him…

“But their view of me will change. Cull-the Commander will not want to… work with me any longer, and that will make my job more difficult.” She stumbled through the words, her heart twisting at the thought.

A hand grabbed her chin and turned it towards the other mage, “Cullen cares for you- deeply.” She tried to pull away with a huff of disbelief, but he held her firm, “I have seen the way he looks at you. I have seen the way he watches and listens. He will understand, but only if you tell him. If you wait, if you let him fall for you any further- you will break his heart.”

She felt tears running down her cheek as she stared in horror into Dinall’s eyes. Was the commander really..? No, that was not a possibility she could contemplate. He hated mages and she couldn’t stand to be _near_ Templars. Shaking her head, she swung her legs off his lap and placed her bare feet on the cold floor, “It doesn’t matter. It can’t be anything anyways.”

“And Solas?”

Now that was a question she couldn’t answer herself. Smirking half-heartedly, she glanced at her circle-brother, “What about him?”

He gave her a half smile, a knowing look in his eyes, “You’ve always had a soft spot for that type.”

Rolling her eyes, she stuck out her tongue briefly, “And just what _type_ is that?” Any change in subject was welcome right now.

Dinall waved a hand in the air absently, “Aloof, broody, intelligent- _elvhen_.”

Aiming a kick to him, she laughed, “I do not!”

“Two out of three- I’d call that a type!”

“Curt was _not_ broody.”

“Oh? You’re right; he was just quietly _brooding_ all the time.”

Wren jabbed his ribs a few times until his laughter forced him to stop picking on her and defend himself. “And just who is the _third_?”

Dinall shook her head, “Didn’t we just discuss him? Tall, blonde, _dreadfully_ handsome, stammars adorably whenever you’re around?” He paused, looking off to one side while rubbing his chin, “More my type, really.”

Wrinkling her nose she leapt on the opportunity to turn this around on him, “OH! Have your eyes on a certain ex-Templar, now? Going to sweep him off his feet? Or is he supposed to sweep you off yours?”

He snorted, standing up and snatching her off the couch in one move before swinging her around while she giggled, “You know that _I_ do the sweeping!”

It felt so good to have a moment without worry, where it could just be two friends laughing and picking on each other for their choice in men. Wren’s giggles turned into full blown laughter as her brother spun her around a few more times before tossing her (carefully) onto the bed. She hadn’t laughed like this in a very long time. Cole might have wanted to bring _him_ up instead, but Wren knew that Dinall could always make her feel better. He always had.

Both mages were perched on the bed laughing, when a new voice broke in- making them jump, “Well, as _homey_ of a display as this was, I can’t simply stand around all day while you two flit about.” Dorian stood at the top of the stairs, smirking at them, though Wren thought there was something hard in his eyes. “As I’ve been relegated to _messenger boy_ , I’d much rather deliver my message and be one my way.”

Wren went to stand, but Dinall placed a hand on her shoulder and kept her sitting, not even allowing her to speak, “Then deliver the message. And for future reference, you should consider knocking.” His voice was deep and Wren recognized it- Dinall was a few steps away from livid. Circle mages didn’t get a lot of privacy, but when they had it, it was nearly sacred. Barging into a room without warning was enough to anger anyone from a Circle.

Looking a bit haughty, Dorian placed his hand dramatically on his chest, “Oh of _course_! How _terribly_ rude of me!” The sarcasm in his voice began to sound more like venom, “Do forgive me for intruding on your little gossip session.” Turning his attention back to Wren, his face only softened a little, “Master Dwarf has requested your presence. He says he has someone here that might be able to help.” Giving a flourishing bow, the Tevinter mage descended the stairs, slamming the door shut behind him.

Wren turned on Dinall, angry and confused at both the mages’ behavior, “What in Thedas was _that_ about, Dinall?”

The other stood and turned away from her, his shoulders tense, “He shouldn’t have barged in like that.”

Wren got up and walked around him so that she stood before his scowling face. She thought about pushing the issue. They both knew that there was something more to the interactions of the two mages, but… It wasn’t worth picking a fight. Dinall had helped her, and that was what mattered. Shaking her head, she moved towards the stairs, “I should see what Varric wants.” Pausing, her hand on the rail, she smiled at him gently, “Thank you, Dinall. I’m glad Cole brought you.”

* * * * *

Meeting Hawke had been… Interesting, if a bit more than Wren had wanted to deal with at the time. The Grey Wardens. Yet another block stacked atop her precarious tower of duties and worries. Still, it could be dangerous to ignore. She would meet this friend of the Champion’s, and hopefully, get some answers. After the headlong flight to Skyhold, it would be a few days yet before they could venture back out, but Wren was looking forward to it. Getting out of the castle and onto the road again… Right now, that sounded like heaven. There were a lot of request for her presence or the Inquisition’s assistance piling up, and everyone was eager to get under way, but they had to make sure everything was secure first.

That meant that she actually had some down time. It was a little disconcerting, and she honestly wasn’t sure what to do with herself. After her meltdown, she had no desire to return to her room, so instead she sought the company of someone who never put more pressure on her than necessary.

Solas was standing in the rotunda he had claimed as his study. Already he had brought some things into the large room, though only a heavy desk and chair were currently unpacked. Wren had not been here yet, and looked around in awe. It was an amazing room, with a spiraling ceiling that went past two more floors. Far above she could hear the caw of Ravens and the muted voices of people overhead. She turned a circle, wondering what this had once been used for. It felt like a thousand souls had passed through this way…

Solas was standing beside his desk, and as she entered he stood with a smile, “Ah, Da’ean’ma, I was wondering when you would find me.” With soft footsteps he closed the distance touching her shoulder with concern, “I was told that you… were unwell.”

Shrinking in on herself a little, she felt a wash of shame over her and cursed Cole- but immediately took it back. The boy was just trying to help. “I am… better, now. Though I do wish that Cole had been more circumspect about it.”

Her friend laughed softly, “He acts out of compassion, da’len, and it seems he has a soft spot for you. However, he did give me a rather interesting idea- if you are not busy?”

Wren nodded curiously, “I have some time.”

*

Wren followed Solas up a winding track beside a river, tucked away in between two mountain faces. The path was a little steep, and slick with moss from the warm water. She marveled at the serenity of this place and wondered at how Solas had found it. Looking at the trail, she knew that no one had been up this way in a very long time. Beyond the rush of water and the soft songs of birds, there was no other sound that followed them. Wren gave up asking where they were going, since Solas would only look over his shoulder with that tiny smirk and say nothing.

As they continued, the river gave way to a roaring waterfall, and Wren could not help but admire the beauty that had been hidden within the mountains. With the elf’s help, she managed to clamber over the slick rocks up the side of it. He led her around a small bend, then stopped to wait for her to catch up, “Cole said you needed to get away- that you had become overwhelmed with the sudden burden of responsibility.” He swept out an arm to indicate where they had arrived, “This is a secret place. No one else can find you here.”

Wren marveled at the wonder he had brought her to. Flooded clearings hugged a sluggish river, who’s lazy waters came from a deep pool at the base of yet another roaring waterfall. The power behind it kept a steady mist in the air, and moss covered nearly everything in a velvety carpet. The few trees that grew along the edges were ancient beasts, towering over the rocks around them and swaying in the mountain breeze. Despite being winter, the air was warm and gentle, and Wren found herself tossing her heavy cloak aside and exploring the area in just her light  tunic and leather breeches. She ran her fingers through tall, waving cattails, and touched the hanging boughs of the evergreens. “It is amazing, Solas.” Turning, she could think of nothing else to say other than-“Thank you.”

He lifted a hand in absent acceptance, “You have been through more than most. Your past alone, what little I know of it, would have been enough to break many. Now, you struggle against your inner demons in silence while accepting the burdens placed upon you. The least I can do is show my support, if even in just this small way. You have come so far from that first day…” They shared a moment of silent appreciation for the natural beauty around them before he continued, looking out over the peaks of the mountains, towards Haven and the just visible Breach, “As Varric once told you, I sat beside you while you slept, studying the anchor.”

Wren smiled, standing by his side, “I’m glad someone was watching over me.”

He turned a little, a strange look in his eyes, “You were a mystery. You still are.” She grinned at that- he’d called her a mystery and a curiosity more than once. He continued, passion in his voice, “I ran every test I could imagine, searching the Fade, yet found nothing. You held the answers, I was sure, but how could you give them to me?” Wren was fascinated by his speech. He had not spoken of their first meeting before, and since she had not been around for it, it was nice to hear of it from someone. “Cassandra suspected duplicity and threatened to have me executed as an apostate if I didn’t produce results.”

She could almost visualize it and smiled a little, after all, Wren herself had experienced much the same from the Seeker. “She’s like that with everyone.”

Solas chuckled, understanding her reference, “Yes, that she is.” He turned away and led her along the edge of the boggy clearing, up another twisting path to a slightly higher ground, though this too was carved by a meandering stream. “You were never going to wake up! How could you? A _mortal_ sent physically through the Fade.” He paused and looked to her again, “I was frustrated, frightened. The spirits I might have consulted had been driven away by the Breach.” To hear him admit that, admit his fear and worry, stirred something in Wren. This was yet another reminder that he treated her differently than he treated anyone else in the Inquisition. “Although I wished to help, I had no faith in Cassandra, or she in me. I was ready to flee.”

That shocked Wren. Solas did not come off as the type to flee from his problems, but rather, to face them head on, “Where would you have gone?” She knew she did not need to explain that nowhere in Thedas was safe from the ever expanding Breach.

He shrugged noncommittally, before continuing up the path, opening up to another clearing with a smaller, but equally stunning waterfall, “Someplace far away. Somewhere I might study a way to repair the Breach before its effects could reach me.” He laughed a little to himself, “I never said it was a _good_ plan.” This final clearing had some large jutting rocks on one side, but dropped to a cliff on the other. It looked out over the Hinterlands, a vast expanse of hills and valleys at the foot of the mountains. It was an amazing view, and the setting sun made the whole valley look alight in flame. They stood at the edge, both of their eyes drawn towards the glowing Breach, “I told myself, ‘One more attempt to seal the Rifts.’” Deflating a little, he shook his head, “I tried, and failed. No ordinary magic could affect them.”

She imagined how hard that must have been for him. Solas was a powerful mage, she had seen that first hand. To feel so ineffective against something that threatened the whole world…

“I had resigned myself to flee. The Rifts had continued to expand and grow. And then…” He paused, before turning back to her and smiling, his words an echo of those he’d spoken when she closed her first Rift, “’It seems you hold the key to our salvation.’ You had sealed the Rift with a _gesture_.” He suddenly seemed much closer than before, looking down at her with a soft smile, “…And right then, I felt the whole world _change_.”

Anyone else might have missed it, but Wren had spent enough time around Solas to understand- he wasn’t just referring to her Mark and what she had done. He was referring to _her._ “Felt the whole world change?” She whispered.

He gave a little smirk and tipped his head, “A figure of speech.”

She shook her head, “I’m familiar with the phrase. I’m more interested in _‘felt._ ’” When had they gotten so close? She could feel the heat of his body radiating off of him, and the rushing in her ears began to drown out the roar of water behind them.

When he spoke, she could feel his breath puffing across her lips, “You change… _everything._ ”

She blushed, looking down a little, “Sweet talker.”

He smiled down at her and for a moment, seemed like he might pull away, but Wren felt a sudden rush of adrenaline, and lifted herself on her tiptoes to place a rash kiss on his lips. It was brief- she felt her cheeks heat like they were burned, and started to turn away from him. It was rash, but the urge to kiss him had been so strong…

Solas looked a little shocked at first but then, with a lopsided grin, he grabbed her arm and pulled her tightly against his body, swooping down to capture her lips with his. Her body was tense for only a moment- she hadn’t expected him to actually respond!- before she relaxed against him. She whimpered softly, and he growled in response- an echo of a kiss she’d shared with him before. Deepening the kiss with a soft nip to her bottom lip, he demanded entrance into her mouth with a very bossy tongue. She acquiesced, both exploring the velvet heat of the other. His arms were like a vice around her, and her own hand drifted up to his neck, her fingers ghosting over the skin there.

He pulled away briefly, shaking his head a little. Wren worried, for his eyes showed confusion and sorrow, but they still had a fire in them that flared up again as he pulled her in for another kiss. It was just as passionate as the second, and one of his hands slid down her side, sending shivers up her spine, until it rested on her hip. He tugged her closer against him, and a pool of heat spread from her center at the feeling of his hard body pressed so closely. Mind drifting in a wash of pleasure, she was willing to let the world take care of itself for a while- until he pulled away.

“We shouldn’t.” His voice was insistent, but his hand still lingered on her hip, fingers tightening on her skin, “It isn’t right. Not even here.” Finally releasing her, he took a few steps back to put a bit of distance between them.

Wren was confused, but still feeling lightheaded, “What do you mean, ‘even here’?”

A knowing smile played across his lips, “Where do you _think_ we are?”

Wren’s brow furrowed and she looked around. Confusion slowly shifted to a dawning realization. She had no memory of them leaving the keep, nor could they have arrived in the Hinterlands so quickly. While they had walked through the spray of the waterfalls, neither of them were wet. And the air… It was warm, like a late summer evening, not the middle of winter. “This isn’t real…”

He laughed a little, the sound soft and comforting, “ _That’s_ a matter of debate… Probably best discussed after you… _Wake up._ ”

-Wren bolted upright in bed, her mind swirling with confusion and surprise. It had been a dream? No. Yes? Soft sheets covered her body, and it took her a moment to remember how she got here. She’d spoken with Hawke..? Yes, that she could remember clearly. And then… Ah. She’d peaked in on Solas, but he’d been busy with something, so instead of bothering him she had decided to come upstairs. Exhausted from her earlier panic attack, Wren had curled up on the bed, intending to relax a little bit before seeking out her friend again. So it was a dream…

But why, then, could she still feel his teeth on her lips and his hand bruising her hip? Why did she feel flush and excited, in a way that had only occurred once before? She wondered… and decided that the only way to solve this particular question was to confront the man himself. If he showed no sign of anything having happened, she could pass it off as an _incredibly_ realistic dream and go drink herself into tomorrow. But… If he knew what happened…What- what would that mean for them? Her mind drifted to the Future Solas, and the way he had poured so much passion and anguish into his kiss. That had been so long ago… Had he really harbored feelings for her this whole time? There was only one way to find out.

Sliding out of bed she changed into less rumpled clothing and padded down her stairs. The castle was quiet, and it was obvious that it was fairly late in the evening. Still, she would have no rest until there was an answer. There were not many torches in the halls yet, so she lit a small flame in her hand to guide her. No servants scurried around, no soldiers paced the corridor. The castle was silent, but there was light from under Solas’ door, so after a brief warning knock, she entered.

Solas stood facing the door, leaning against his desk with a wide, knowing smirk. “ _Sleep_ well?”

Wren wanted to be upset, or confused, or anything else- but instead, she found herself laughing softly. The bastard _had_ been there! It was _real_! Or, as real as the Fade gets. Instead of feeling mortified, she relaxed and returned his smile in kind, “I’ve never experienced anything like that, Hahren. On _multiple_ levels.” She walked closer to him, closing the distance with a swaying step.

He laughed in turn, reaching out to brush the hair from her eyes, “At least, not that you remember. You are a strong Dreamer. I’m sure that was not your first foray into the Fade.”

She smiled, unsure what to say next. For a moment, it seemed like everything would be fine.

But Solas face fell a bit, and he gently pushed her back, putting her at arm’s length and holding his hands behind is back, “I apologize for my actions. The kiss was impulsive and ill considered. I should not have encouraged it.” He looked unsure of himself, and anxious. Did he mean her kissing him was ill considered, or his response- twice?

Wren wasn’t willing to let it go that easily, and she smirked, feeling a bit _impulsive_ , as he’d just put it. “You say that, but you’re the one who started with _tongue_.”

He looked shocked, but his cheeks turned pink and even the tips of his ears blushed, “I did no such thing!”

‘ _I should get him flustered more often. He’s adorable when he’s blushing._ ’ She scoffed, “Oh! Does it not count if it’s only _Fade_ -tongue?”

Boots scuffing the stone floor, he looked away, “It has… been a long time. Things have always been… _easier_ for me in the Fade…” That sparked curiosity in Wren. When was the last time he’d kissed someone? In the Fade or in the real world? Was there really such a vulnerable man under that stoic exterior? She wanted to explore that, and after the kiss, she wanted to coax him out of his brash shell. Determined to not let him get away that easily, she took a few bold steps forward. He did not retreat, but she could see the nervousness in his posture.

Solas’ voice wavered with insecurity, “I am not certain this is the best idea…” But he didn’t move away from her. His hand lifted from his side, his fingers reaching for her, but not touching, “It could lead to trouble.”

Her voice dropped, gentle and soothing, like one used to calm a wild beast, “I’m willing to take that chance, Solas, if you are…” She put her hand on his chest and could feel his heart thundering against his ribcage- like her own. Impressed that she had come this far in the conversation, and that it was not the other way around, she waited, hopeful, for his response.

Solas considered her with eyes swirling with emotion, “I-maybe. Yes?” He was actually flustered! Wren had to bite her lip to keep from giggling, though he continued, “If I could take a little time… There are… _Considerations_.”

It felt like her heart had leapt to her throat, and she couldn’t find her voice for a moment. Was he serious? Could this be yet another Fade-dream? No, this time was real. By the Creators… “Take all the time you need, Hahren.” To emphasize her point, she took a few steps back, giving him some room to breathe.

He sighed, relaxing now, “Thank you.” His hand brushed across a book on his desk, while he sought words to explain himself. “I am not often thrown by things that happen in Dreams…” That felt more like he was talking to himself than addressing her, but she waited until he spoke again. Standing up a little straighter, he gave her a small smile, “However, I am _reasonably_ certain we are awake now, and if you wish to discuss anything, I always enjoy our conversations.”

Returning his smile, she gestured towards his door with a quirked brow, and he nodded, following her out. They walked out of the main doors and into the biting air of winter’s late night. She was grateful for the thick fur lining of her jacket, and tugged it more tightly around herself as they walked down the stairs and across the main courtyard. Here and there were torches fluttering in the light breeze, with guards patrolling the parapets above and one or two standing sentry along the walkways. Each placed their fists to their hearts as they passed, but silently, respecting the Inquisitor’s desire for a late evening stroll with, as far as they knew, a trusted advisor.

Unable to hold it in, she quietly voiced the question she had wanted to ask, “Where was that place, Hahren?”

His hands behind his back, he kept his stare ahead of them, “Ah. It is in the Hinterlands, as you might have guessed by the view. A place I discovered while pursuing a spirit of Serenity.”

Wren nodded, understanding what would have lured a spirit like that to such a place. “It is beautiful. Does it exist in _this_ world?”

Solas tipped his head, “I suppose it must, since much of the Fade reflects the world of the living.”

Wren stared at her feet, watching each one placed carefully before the next in nearly silent footsteps. While she had explored much of the Hinterlands with her fellow mages and again with the Inquisition, she had found no such place. It was beautiful, and, well, serene. “I hope the war has not destroyed it. I imagine that spirits like Serenity have few places to seek shelter anymore…”

His footsteps paused, and when she looked up at him,Solas was staring at her in a bit of awe, “Very few mortals would care enough to wonder that, Da’ean’ma. You are…full of surprises.”

She smiled shyly, looking up at him through her lashes, “A curiosity, remember?”

He chuckled and reached out to brushed a thumb across her cheek, “A mystery.” His hand cupped her face briefly, his eyes searching hers.

They stood like that for only a moment, before her own nervousness surfaced and she turned to continue on their stroll. Solas followed beside her in a companionable silence.

Skyhold was a beast of a keep, tucked away in the mountains of nowhere. The dwarven crews had been working hard all day, and most of the keep was now accessible. Only dangerous areas had been closed off, until they could be stabilized. Wooden scaffolding had been started along nearly every tower and wall, and already, much of the useable stone that had fallen was being stacked up to use again. Wren tried to rebuild the keep in her mind, every wall whole and every tower topped with fluttering banners. It would be months yet before that would be realized, but they were lucky- the mages would be incredibly useful in rebuilding. Magic could lift heavy stone and hold it in place, or shatter a mountainside for the materials needed. It could reinforce walls and gates, and protect the workers from collapsing buildings. Once again, she could not regret her decision to support the mages.

Soon, the quiet pair found themselves on the parapets overlooking the road into Skyhold. The sky was starting to brighten, and sunrise was not far off. Solas cast a warming ward while they leaned out over the wall and watched a small procession wend its way up the main road. By the banner, it appeared to be more Redcliffe mages, perhaps the last group of them coming out of the Hinterlands. Wren wondered if they had camped at all in the night, or if they were simply early risers, eager to have breakfast in the safety of the legendary hold. It would be another hour before they made it to the gates, but by then the cooks would have something hearty waiting for them. Already a contingent of Inquisition guards were leaving Skyhold on horseback to meet with the newcomers and guide them up the mountain.

“More flock to your banner, da’len.” Solas remarked, his own eyes tracking the movements of the incoming mob.

Wren nodded, looking down at her fingers where they gripped the cold stone, “Cassandra said that much as Haven had once been a pilgrimage for many, so now is Skyhold becoming the same.”

Solas made a noise of acknowledgement, before turning to study her, “It is not Skyhold they come to, ma falon, but to you. You are a beacon of hope and wonder, in times too dark for them to understand.”

She sighed, eyes drifting back to the approaching mages, “I know. I do not understand it, but I know.”

“And what shall you do?”

Smiling sadly, she turned and swept her hand across the keep, “I shall make the Inquisition rise, and be a force for Corypheus to fear.”

Solas gave her a look of approval and a short bow, “As you will, Inquisitor. Know that we follow you- willingly.”

While Dinall had comforted her earlier, using distraction to get her mind off of her troubles, Solas raised her spirits, and made her feel strong enough to take on the world. She knew that her past would always haunt her, but at least right now, she could be in control of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> w00t! 60,000 words and 100 pages completed! Hope you enjoyed so far. I had some trouble with this chapter, but I’m hoping it turned out alright. Also, yes, the place in the Fade is actually in the Hinterlands. See if you can find it!
> 
> For the distant future, would anyone be interested in a story about Dinall? It would start with his joining the Circle and lead up to… I don’t know. If you would like it, let me know and I’ll at least put down an outline for future writing. 
> 
> Translations:  
> pace et cessabit, pace Sidas, pace.- peace and calm, peace my Star, peace.  
> Ma falon- my friend


	12. Light of the World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Trigger warning*  
> Last warning. This chapter is the start of the discussion of Wren’s past. That means past non-con topics/ abuse. From now on, if you cannot handle these topics, I’d suggest leaving the fic. I will not include any other warnings from here on out. I’m not doing this out of spite or a dislike for warnings, but more because references might occur often enough in this fic that it would be pointless for me to try to warn you for every time.

Wren had avoided speaking with any of her inner circle for the rest of the day. From time to time, she would spot Dinall watching her from the stairs, or a rampart as he delivered Josephine’s messages and paperwork, and every time she would scurry the opposite direction. It was inevitable that she would have to do as he requested, and tell at least a few of the advisors and such about… her past. That didn’t mean she wasn’t going to put it off for as long as possible. There was no running forever and unless she went out on the road, leaving her friend to tell everyone in her absence anyway, there would be no escaping. Well, if it had to be done, she might as well start now. With the hardest one.

The door to Cullen’s office was closed, but there was still a light on underneath despite the late hour. Insomnia was one of the things they had in common, at least. Knocking lightly, Wren felt as if her skin was trying to crawl away into one corner while her stomach flew off the ramparts from the other.

“Come in.”

Taking a breath, she pushed the door open and took a few cautious steps inside. The commander was staring down at some paperwork, pen scratching rapidly in the candlelight. When she didn’t make any noise, his brow wrinkled and he started to rebuke whoever he thought was there, only looking up a few words in, “I don’t have time to give you permission to- Oh! Lady Trevelyan! I-I didn’t realize.” He stood, upending his inkwell in his haste, “Maker, all over the Val Royeaux reports.” He scrambled to pick up a blotting cloth and mop up the ink before it spread, while Wren took a few steps back towards the door.

“Should- was this a bad time, Commander?”

“What? No! Not at all!” He scrambled to clear off the rest of the papers, then moved around the desk to tackle the pile that occupied the only other chair in the room, “Let me just move these…” He cast around for a suitable place, but Wren interrupted him.

“If it’s alright, I was hoping to talk…outside? If you have a minute.” She rushed through the last part, not wanting to tear him away from anything important, but unsure if she would ever muster up the courage to do this conversation a second time.

Cullen paused, turning to look at her with an uncomfortable intensity, “Are you alright, m’lady?”

“Yes, I-“ She stopped, tugging at the hem of her jacket. The words were difficult, and her voice went soft as she tried to explain, “You once said that you didn’t know what happened in my past to make me hate Templars so.” Eyes darting up, she was surprised to see caution and rage warring on the Commander’s face. Swallowing the hesitation, she continued, “I think… it would be important for you to know.

Pale faced, he set down the papers in his arms and nodded, waiting for her to lead the way. Taking a final deep breath, she turned and led him out along the ramparts. Every time she thought she’d found a quiet place to talk, soldiers would walk by on guard duty, and she would move on. The Commander didn’t stop her, didn’t ask, and didn’t seem impatient- all of which she was immeasurably grateful for. Finally feeling like there was only one option, she turned from the courtyard and headed out the gate. After only a moment’s hesitation, her company followed.

It was quiet out here, meandering the paths around Skyhold. With night settling around them there was no risk of running into anyone on the road, and the sentries that wandered these roads were likely settled down around fires right now, watching, but not moving about. Thick fur lining kept the Inquisitor warm, and Cullen had grabbed his heavy cloak on their way out, so neither were suffering from the deep winter around them. If anything, Wren was overheating from nerves. How do you explain this sort of thing?

Mountains surrounded them, guarding Skyhold like loyal hounds. Vast swaths of land and water separated her from her past. It was safe here. She could talk about it here. Who knows, maybe the bastards were dead anyways. Her voice stayed even, almost monotone, as she spoke, and she could feel the commander listening with every ounce of his being from beside her, “I was very young when they gave me to the Circle. Already a thorn in my family’s side- rebellious, outspoken, definitely not ladylike- they were more than happy to drop me in the Chantry’s lap- with the understanding that my blood might still be useful to the family line, and I would be expected to come play the tame mage from time to time. That wasn’t a problem, of course, since my parents donated land, money, and servants along with me. So, I was swept off with other magelings to have my phylactery made and be interred into the Ostwick tower.” She remembered that day only vaguely, her young mind more interested in the new world she was seeing than in the politics that were being played with her freedom. “This was some time before Kirkwall, mind you, but it didn’t take me long to learn that what made Hawke snap was not an isolated incident, but common practice. Abuse by the Templars was…an understood part of life. True, the lucky circles experienced it only rarely, and their soldiers were punished appropriately, according to the Chantry. My Circle wasn’t so lucky. More specifically, the younger mages. We… We were without the protection of our confidence and abilities, and were easily cowed by the larger, more powerful Templars.” That was phrasing it lightly.

The older mages of Ostwick had little to do with the younger except for lessons, and even then, they were very strict about how one acted at those times. Any complaints the young ones made about the Templars was met with a harsh glare and a lecture about how lucky mages were that the Templars looked after them instead of simply killing them for being abominations. There were long lectures on the Chantry’s view on magic, and always, the idea that Templars were like the hand of the Maker himself- staying the deserved death of a mage out of mercy. Thus, any ‘punishment’ the Templars meted out was viewed as just and Chantry blessed.

In the long pause, Cullen cleared his throat and spoke softly, “I- I have seen some of the behavior you mention. It is only amplified on the Templar’s end, with the insistence that mages are dangerous and little more than barely controlled animals…” His own thoughts stopped him, and Wren dipped her head to acknowledge his comment.

“It is a vicious cycle, and only made worse when those who are supposed to control the Templars are corrupt or never receive your plea.” Silence dragged out again between them, and Wren had to push away all emotion- all the fear, all the pain from that day- in order to continue. “It was just after my Harrowing. I was the last of my little group of friends to complete it. We were lucky, really. Not a single one of us was lost to a demon, and none of us were made Tranquil. There was a celebration along with a ceremony. We were all moved up a floor and given private rooms of our own. I… I had forgotten something in my room, a trinket I meant to give to… And a few of the Templars from the lower levels were loitering. Claimed to be tossing the rooms, looking for contraband or some link to the rebellions that were starting in Kirkwall. I didn’t recognize one of the men, though later I found out he was a transfer from Kirkwall. Maybe someone you knew.” She didn’t look at Cullen, but she could feel him tense up.

A cold breeze started up, and Wren realized that they had been stopped for some time- her feet were starting to get cold, despite the wooly socks. With a flick of her hand, she cast a warming rune, like the one Solas had cast that morning, at their feet. The heat melted the snow quickly, then created a little pocket of still, warm air for them to bask in. It wouldn’t last long, but there wasn’t much left to the story. Not that she was willing to say, at least.

“I tried to brush past them and ignore their jeering. Two of them followed me into my room. I continued to ignore them. They started talking about my body, how it looked during the Harrowing when I was twisting and fighting in the Fade. I ignored them. Then one of them grabbed me, and my temper snapped. I… I had already had a few drinks. I wasn’t in as much control of my magic as I should have been. I’ve always been known for my fire…” It was a quip from before the fall of Haven, their little spat and Cullen’s later compliment of her inner fire. But it fell flat between them, given the gravity of the current subject. Cullen made a sound, like a grunt of disgust or annoyance, but Wren continued, not wanting to hear him admonish her for losing her temper. “I burned him. Not badly, but enough. When he yelled, the others came. They held me down. Said I needed to be taught my place. Needed to learn how to be humble. To be grateful. The one I burned… was the first. I think they each had a go. I’m not sure. I woke up, my dress soaked in blood, in the dungeon a few hours later. Curt and Dinall found me and demanded my release. I think the only reason the Senior Enchanter let me out was because the blood was attracting rats, and he hated rats.” She couldn’t continue. Not because of her own emotions, but because Cullen looked like he was going to either throw up, or hit something. Wren felt numb. Empty. She had only told the story once, and that was to a Second Enchanter while begging to have the Templars that assaulted her be dealt with by Seekers. Nothing ever came of that plea, but the fall of the Circles came shortly after that, and Wren and her little family of mages were able to flee the horrors of the tower.

After a few minutes where Cullen struggled with himself, he finally seemed to gain control, “Maker. How can you stand to be around me? I… if I had known, I wouldn’t have pushed to have the Templars join the Inquisition.”

She watched him with dispassionate eyes, before offering him a small smile of sympathy. “You don’t sing, like the other Templars. I can barely hear the lyrium in you. Besides,” she turned away, wanting to get back to the keep and out of the cold, “when our Circle fell and the Templars came after us, my family took care of the ones who did that to me.”

“Dinall?”

She nodded, “Yes. He would heal them a little in between, so that Curt and the others could continue. It took three days for those men to die.”

There was a long silence and they reached the bridge before the Commander made another sound. “Good.”

*

The next morning’s retelling of the story to Cassandra and Leliana (Wren hadn’t wanted to speak interrupt Josephine’s meeting with a visiting noble), was not as calm. Both women asked questions, cursed, and wanted details about who had been in charge at her Circle. Cassandra seemed of the same opinion as Cullen, that the Templars had deserved the fate the young mages gave them. Leliana however, grew quiet and stormy. When Cassandra prodded the spymaster, she said only that had her people been able to deal with those men, the three days would have seemed like a mercy. Wren forced both women to promise not to pursue it further, but she did agree with Leliana’s request after some debate. The bard wanted to spread the story, carefully and quietly of course, to some of those who still operated in the Circle or who were still advocating for the Inquisition’s mages to be forced into Circles again. When the women explained that her story could help prevent other such tragedies, she cringed, but accepted it.

When the telling was done and her tears dried (for it had not been so easy this time and she had lost her composure more than once), Wren was grateful for Cassandra’s offer to discuss it with any others that were deemed important enough to have that information.

Leliana looked stricken after a moment, “Oh Maker. What about Cullen?”

Before they could start worrying, Wren interrupted, “No, I told him last night.” Both women regarded her in blatant shock. “I… I didn’t think it would be right, him hearing it from someone else…”

They seemed to understand, and Cassandra asked, “Is there anyone else you wish to tell in person?”

Wren though a moment, “Obviously, Dinall already knows. Cole I think knows, or will soon enough. I wouldn’t be sure how to explain it to him anyways.” Cassandra made a muffled snort of amusement, before Wren sighed, rubbing her temple, “It is probably… best… if I tell Solas. I think he suspects, but…”

Leliana nodded, “I am sure he would appreciate hearing it directly from you.”

The Seeker shook her head, “I would not have wanted to be the one to tell him.” She eyed Wren critically, “He is more protective of you than even the Commander.” Not sure what she could say to that, she gave them both a dip of her head and left the room, heading for Solas’ rotunda.

Dinall and Cole were waiting for her, the latter looking shocked and the former looking shamefaced. Sighing, she signaled them both to follow her and turned to the staircase the led to her quarters instead.

Cole dogged her footsteps, and as soon as she knew there was no one nearby, he started speaking, “I don’t understand. Why use something meant for good, for punishment? How is that right? They hurt the ones they were supposed to protect. _They_ should have been punished. They were. But they should have been stopped.”

Sighing, she made her way to the fireplace and sat down on the thick bear fur rug, “It is a failing of people, Cole. They take things that are good and twist them into something bad. Like a poison in the form of an action.” The spirit shook his head, eyes wide as he tried to wrap his mind around the concept.

Dinall stayed at the top of the stairs, watching her with regret, “I did not mean to have you go about the telling all in one day, Sidas.”

Wren shook her head, brushing a few straying curls from her face, “It was better this way. Now it will be done, and I can leave it behind.”

Cole’s hand snapped out and grabbed hers, his voice tinged with panic, “No! You can’t leave it! It will fester and rot. It was part of what was hurting you before, but I couldn’t see it because of the tangle around it. This is good. It is in the open now and I can help unravel it!” He stood abruptly, pulling her to her feet too, “There is only one more to tell. He will be the worst. He cares so much. Too much. But you must do it here. This place is yours. It’s safe. And he will stay calmer here.” Dropping her hand, he moved towards the stairs and around Dinall, disappearing again.

The older mage eyed her, “You hadn’t told Solas, yet?” Wren shook her head slowly and moved to sit on the edge of the bed, still facing the fire. “Kaffas… He will bring the whole keep down. I hope Cole is right about this room.” Giving her one last, long look, he shook his head, “I’ll stay at the door at the bottom, and keep anyone from coming up.”

_Is Solas truly that protective of me? Or that terrifying?_ She just couldn’t see it, not Solas. Yes, they cared for each other, there was no denying that and no reason to. And yes, he was a powerful mage. But everyone spoke of Solas’ wrath like it was something terrifying. Were they seeing something she was not? There was no question about telling him, and part of her wished that she had sought him out first, but she felt like she had missed something crucial about him that everyone else had seen.

The soft, familiar steps of her elven companion roused her, and she looked up at him with wide, curious eyes. He stood at the edge of the railing, his elegant fingers barely touching it, one foot trailing a little and the heel still lifted. His eyes were searching her- face, body, hands, the room- as if looking for something wrong. Ah, so Cole hadn’t told him what it was about, only that Wren needed him. She took a shuddering breath in, her voice barely a whisper spoken into the night, “Solas…”

She barely saw him close the distance between them. One moment he was across the room, the next he’d taken three giant strides to stand before her, his fingers ghosting her cheek, “You have been crying, Da’ean’ma.” It was not a question, nor even a statement. It was an accusation that left the question ‘who has caused this?’ unnecessary to ask.

Sighing, she turned her head a little so that his fingers brushed across her lips before answering, “Yes, Hahren. It has been… a trying day. And night.”

“Is that why you did not sleep?”

There was no surprise that he knew that, she had begun to suspect, after their adventure in the Fade, that he had spied on her dreams in the past. “Yes, Hahren.” Goosebumps broke out over her flesh as she contemplated the discussion they were about to have. Fingers traveled down her arm, hesitating a moment before taking her hand and giving a soft tug to get her to her feet. She followed him to the bear rug she had just been sitting at, and folded her legs beneath her. When he settled down however, it was behind her, and he pushed her hips forward and pulled her shoulders back until she got the hint and with an almost humorless chuckle, she complied. Shuffling forward she laid down on the rug, her head pillowed on his folded legs. His fingers stroked her hair, and she closed her eyes, listening to the fire pop and the wind rise and fall outside.

“Tell me.” A command, not a request. Already she could hear the icy edge to his voice. Perhaps the others were right to worry.

Never the less, she told him.

Her words rose and fell and she found herself going into far more detail than she had with the others. She told him about how it felt to be taken to the Circle, and the first time a Templar hit her for the ‘insubordination’ of looking at him wrong. The worries and fears before her Harrowing, and the way the some of the Templars hissed as she walked passed the names of those who had not survived. Only Dinall knew more, and that was because he had seen much of it with his own eyes.

Every time her breath hitched, Solas’ fingers would brush across her shoulders. Every time she paused to regain composure, he would whisper words in such an ancient elven dialect that she could only understand the encouragement they offered, not the words themselves. Only when she arrived at the violation itself did he pause, his whole body tensing and his fingers frozen on her cheek. Wren’s eyes opened and she stared up at her companion’s face, worried that she would see judgement or anger or disgust, any of those, directed down at her. Instead, what she saw made her think that perhaps… the others had underestimated Solas’ reaction.

There was no way to describe the cold rage in his eyes. They reflected the firelight the same way a wolves do, but this was no wild companion come to share the heat. This was a violent predator, ready to tear down his prey and eviscerate it for the sin of existing.  “H-hahren?”

“Finish it.” The words were hissed out through gritted teeth and his eyes stared into the fire. She hesitated, but the growl of his words pushed her, “Tell me.”

She flinched, and his fingers immediately brushed her cheek again as if in apology. Taking a deep breath, she continued- telling him about the dungeon, and her eventual release. When she told him about the capture of those Templars after the fall of the Circle, a growl rumbled from his chest and he tipped her chin back so that she was looking at him. “Did they scream?” She nodded, hearing the sound within her. “Was it enough for you?” She shook her head, feeling guilt for her rage boiling in her stomach. His brow furrowed as if he could see it and he shook his head, “Do not regret your anger. What those monsters did to you is nothing compared to three meager days of near death. The only regret you should have is that they are already dead, and thus, out of _my_ reach.”

Lip quirked, she sat up and turned a little towards him, “Leliana said much the same.”

One of his eyebrows shot up and he tipped his head, “You told her?”

“Yes…”

“And Cassandra?”

“...Yes.”

There was a pause, then- “I am the last you have told.” His voice was flat, and Wren could not tell if he was angry or disappointed or hurt.

“I… Yes. You were the last of those that I have personally told.”

“Cullen.” Another demand for an answer.

“The first. Last night.”

“Ah. That is why you did not sleep then. You opened the wound, but had not washed it out.” Now he sounded satisfied, and Wren looked up at him again in confusion. He had an almost smug look to his face. But he was correct. Last night everything had been too raw to even consider sleeping. Nightmares were stalking her mind while she was awake, and surely the memories that were haunting her would have called every demon in these mountains. But now… It hurt, but like a freshly wrapped wound. It was clean and sterile, and it could begin healing properly.

Movement caught her eye, and she felt Solas lean against her before she realized he had scooted up to be beside her. She leaned back against him, letting out a sigh of relief when his arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders. “Sleep now, Da’ean’ma. I will keep the demons at bay.” There was so much confidence in his voice that she could not help but believe him. Head resting on his shoulder, she closed her eyes and let herself relax until sleep finally claimed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news- it’s Camp Nanowrimo again, so I have incentive to write! Better news- I have a ton of little vingettes for the future, and lots of fun plot bunnies. Best news- you got an update and will get more soon! I mean… assuming life doesn’t hate on me for a while. Anyways, I hope to get updates on Rise and If Only as well, but my main desire is for this fic to get lots of attention and maybe be finished by the end of the month… Maybe. Nanowrimo is great incentive.
> 
> SNEAK PREVIEW! Here’s a tiny glimpse from the future, for being so good to me and returning to this fic!  
> *  
> Solas paused, releasing her hand but keeping his eyes locked on hers. Carefully, he unhooked the clasps on his robes, and slid them down his arms, letting them pool at his feet. Wren’s eyes roved his chest and stomach hungrily. While not the first time she’d seen him without a shirt or robe, it was always a pleasant surprise to see his lithe muscles shifting beneath his pale skin. He still had his leather breeches, but he left those on in favor of reaching for her. As he undid each clasp of her leather armor, she could feel her heart rate raise up little by little. Of their own accord, her fingers slid up his sides, dancing along the skin. She reveled in each little flutter of his chest and breathy gasp that her touch caused, and so distracted was she by it that she didn’t immediately realize when he’d divested her of her top and breastband until she felt them ‘thump’ into a pile behind her. Her eyes darted up to his, worried about what he would think. Never before had she been without a top around him, and the scars that worked their jagged way across her skin made her fear that he would view her as tainted.  
> Bright eyes, shining with some deep emotion, met hers- he’d never looked away from her face. “You are beautiful.” He murmured to her, his fingers still moving to unlace the rest of her leathers as he leaned forward to capture her mouth with his. Peace was something so rarely felt anymore that Wren barely knew what to do with it. The feel of his lips as they moved across her face and down her neck, teeth scraping gently at the top of her shoulder, had her sighing and whimpering softly. Finally, the last bit of cloth hiding her from him fell to the sand. At some point, he must have done the same for himself because as he started to guide her backwards towards the water, her hands came up to his hips to steady her steps, and were met with bare skin.   
> His voice whispered a constant stream of elvhen in her ear as their feet splashed into the spring-fed pool, sweet nothings that she barely understood or barely heard, but their meaning was clear enough. What fear or worry was left in her melted with his words and gentle touches along her back and sides. The elf led them deeper until the water lapped at her chest. With a gentle push he turned her around so that she faced away from him. “Lean back, Da’ean’ma. Let your body float.” There was a moment’s hesitation from her until he whispered in her ear, “Elasa ar manhimem ma. Ar novena manhimem ma. Sathan, vhenan…”


	13. The Host of the Lady

With a renewed energy and sense of purpose, Wren threw herself and consequently, her companions, into Inquisition work. She spent only one more day at Skyhold, before packing for the long road and heading out. The first stop was Crestwood, where they met with Hawke and his Warden contact, Stroud. The possibility that the Wardens could be involved was a problem, but the certainty of their corruption was terrifying. She sent Blackwall and Sera back to Skyhold with Hawke, to ensure that preparations were made and scouts were sent ahead with Stroud to search out the other Grey Wardens.

One important puzzle piece down, she continued on to the Storm Coast to meet with The Chargers and their boss- The Iron Bull. There was no denying that their company was impressive, and Bull’s honesty with her about being Ben-hassrath was both surprising and reassuring. No one in their right mind would pretend like other factions weren’t monitoring this rising war, nor that other countries wouldn’t be interested in the goings on of the Inquisition itself. She was cautious, but willing to give him a shot. After ensuring that any reports he made were checked through Leliana first, she sent him on his first task- to clear out the undead and Crestwood (she hadn’t the man power at the time) and find a way to the rift in the lake. Dorian was to go with them as the Inquisitions representative and he send word back to her when the Rift was located so that she would close it.  In the meantime, Wren would track down and deal with these… Blades of Hessarian…

The first night after meeting the Chargers was spent in the main Inquisition camp, watching as one storm left and another slowly rolled in. The rain stopped for barely an hour, before starting up in a light mist. The rest of the camp was winding down, most of her party bedding down for the night or starting up on their watch duty with the local scouts. Of course, Wren couldn’t sleep.

Each day away from Skyhold was a relief. Morning was for training and packing, the afternoon was riding or fighting or hunting, and evening was for setting up camp, sending messages back to the hold, or pacing the campsite while on watch. She always took first watch now. Sleep seemed to be a nug, bounding just out of her reach. Tonight though, the watches were full and she felt the same restlessness despite the weariness that had seeped into her bones.

Slinging her staff over her shoulder and pulling the hood of her travel cloak over her head, she set off down the path towards the beach. The immediate area was cleared of any real dangers, and there were still scouts and sentries lurking about, so she knew there was no threat to her person nearby. This silence that seemed to infect the Storm Coast was getting to her, though, and she needed to be closer to the water, where the angry waves crashing against the shore and rock spires would drowned out the emptiness. At least, for a time.

Large pebbles and rocks littered this beach, making footing a little difficult. No sandy expanse, it wasn’t any wonder that this stretch of land was nearly uninhabited. There was something wild and untamable about it, and right now that was exactly what she needed. Untamed. Untethered. Free to do whatever came naturally. And no one about to judge her for it.

She scrambled over driftwood logs and strange rock outcroppings, and poked her head into shallow sea caves, but retreated when she could hear the wildlife stirring inside. The full moon sitting behind the thin clouds cast a soft glow to the world, leaving it in nearly black and white to her eyes. It was beautiful. Only when her feet began to complain of blisters and her claves cramp from the constant up and down climbing, did she stop. Looking around, she realized she had come farther from the Inquisition camp than she intended. Movement to her right caught her eye and she flipped her staff over her shoulder and took an immediate battle stance.

A rumbling chuckle met her and the figure stepped away from the shadow of the trees, revealing itself to be none other than her apostate elf companion. With a sigh of relief and a snort of annoyance, she flopped down onto a nearby stump and unwrapped her feet, rubbing the blisters that were forming on in the arch, “Solas. Sneaking up on your Inquisitor is a good way to get tossed into the nearest Rift.” Her voice was snippy, but there was no heart in the threat and he knew it.

“Ir abelas, Da’ean’ma. I was simply worried about you leaving the encampment by yourself.”

“So you followed me?”

“Naturally.”

Wren gave a snort that wasn’t quite a laugh, “Well, I suppose that should teach me to pay more attention to my surroundings, right?” The elf just inclined his head with a ghost of a smile and she rolled her eyes at him good naturedly. Before their conversation could go further, though, the air around them shook with lightening but instead of thunder, a screech and a rush of wings washed over them. A dragon, it’s great wings catching the high thermals of the gathering storm, flew over them and down the beach, lighting chasing her tail as she broke through the clouds and disappeared from sight.

“An impressive creature. There is a purity in such undiluted power.” The elf spoke with an almost reverence to his voice, his eyes tracking the beasts flight long after Wren could no longer see it.

“Impressive, yes. I simply hope that we do not meet her on the field of battle anytime soon. Or ever.”

Solas grinned at her, tipping his head to one side, “Come now, Inquisitor. Imagine the added power the title ‘Dragon-slayer’ would give your cause.”

Tossing the tattered foot wraps away, she stood and raised her staff dramatically, “Oh yes! I can see it now. Adorned in dragon scale armor, I stand atop the defeated beast’s skull while our hunters and warriors cheer.” Shaking her head, she dropped her arms and looked over her shoulder at him, expecting to see him laughing with her.

Instead, his eyes flashed oddly in the moonlight. He stepped up behind her, a hairsbreadth between their bodies and his voice was a low growl that sent goosebumps down her arms, “That would be a sight to behold.” She could only gape at him, her breath coming faster. The Anchor crackled softly, responding to her increased heartrate, and the elf’s eyes were drawn down to it. “Does it still hurt?” There was deep concern there, more than the last time he had asked.

Surprised by the sudden shift in his tone, Wren looked down at her hand and examined the scar. “Not really. I barely notice it anymore. Not since… Redcliffe.”

There was a long pause, and when he spoke again, she could barely hear his voice over the growing storm, “Redcliffe haunts you still.” Wren nodded, staring now at the mark but not seeing it. “You are not sleeping, because of Redcliffe.” The implication was clear. He thought her insomnia was due to the opening of the old Circle wound, but now knew otherwise. “There was more than you told us.”

“No-yes?” Wren looked over her shoulder at him, his eyebrow raised. She sighed, and looked out over the ocean. “I reported the important parts. I left out the… emotional ones.”

“Those are sometimes more important, Da’ean.”

Her hand rose to her mouth, her fingers ghosting her lips as she whispered, “You… You called me that. In the future. After you… kissed me.” A sharp intake of breath was the only response, but she continued, “ _’Ir abelas. Forgive me, Da’ean_.’ Those were your words... I thought you were apologizing for kissing me.” The look that future Solas gave her when she first saw him was burned into her mind. But it was the look of desperate hope before he gave up his life for her return… She turned to look at him, examining his face for any confirmation. “That wasn’t what you were asking me to forgive, though.”

His face was carefully blank, but his eyes were looking back at her with such familiar passion that she could almost mistake him for that future shadow. He shook his head slowly, “No, Da’ean’ma. I do not think that is why I asked for forgiveness.” His tone had sorrowful finality to it, and she nodded, understanding that he was not going to say more.

Lifting her hand to his cheek, she leaned forward a little, “Then I forgive you. For anything. For everything.”

He started to pull back and shake his head, his hand on her wrist, “No, you cannot-“

“No Solas. I do not need to know in order to forgive. Anything you do, anything you have done, has its reasons. I trust you. And-“ she closed the space between them, her barely lips brushing his- warm, despite the rain- “I forgive you.” Before he could say anything else or react, she dropped her hand and stepped back.

Not trusting herself to say anything further about it, she turned and slowly made her way back along the beach towards the camp. After only a moment, she could hear his footsteps behind her. They had not spoken of the kiss in the Fade, nor had either of them made any real move since then. Waiting for him to decide wasn’t hard, but she needed him to understand that she _would_ wait, and that his secrets were his.

*

Sleep came peacefully enough that night, and it was easier after that to avoid the demons that usually stalked her. In the quiet of the fade, she could just Dream, now. Solas did not visit her again, but once or twice she felt the brush of his presence and his magic against her. Somehow, it was reassuring, knowing that he was there.

Her waking hours were a bit less frantic, and she found herself sending letters to Dinall along with her correspondence with her advisors. It was cathartic to speak with someone who had known her so long, in a way that simply could not have happened with any of her companions. Now that she had lessened both wounds, if only for a little while, she could enjoy more of her surroundings. By the time they finished up on the Sword Coast and received word back from Dorian about the Rift in Crestwood, she was realizing that she had spent nearly the whole trip ignoring their surroundings. The whole area, though damp with frequent rain, had a unique beauty to it. While the wildness of the Coast had held her attention, Crestwood was a beautiful countryside full of rolling hills and a quiet lake- especially beautiful now that the place wasn’t swarming with undead.

Cole was a great help as well, and Wren had taken to bringing him with her on nearly every outing, if only to keep others from getting upset at him. He seemed to know when her mind was rushing too fast, and would find ways to distract her. Once, sitting front of the fire in camp and on the verge of another panic attack, the strange boy dropped an adolescent nug in her lap and plopped down in front of her with a pleased smile on his face. So surprised was she (and the nug) that her fears were instantly washed away and all she could do was laugh. The two of them spent the next few hours feeding it tidbits and thinking of names for it. When they passed through the village again on their way out of Crestwood, Cole stopped in front of a little girl and handed her the now very nug. He told her it needed someone to take care of it, and that she was the only proper choice. The girl went from looking like a shell of a child, to laughing and smiling and hugging the spirit. Fear and worry did not stalk her thoughts for some days after that.

The return to Skyhold, with the addition of Bull and his Chargers, felt like a homecoming instead of the ripping of a scab. The entire trip, her companions had worked on keeping her occupied, happy, healthy. They didn’t crowd or force her, but the invitation to join them for drinks by the fire, or the offer to help collect herbs when they were low, was always there. True, there were times where it annoyed her, but after nearly a month on trail with them, she could only see them as family.

All that bonding turned out to be a good thing when after not even an hour of being home, Josephine dropped a bomb on the Inquisitor.

“You want me to do what?” Wren asked, sure that she must have misheard.

Josephine had her hands clasped before her, pleading with a smile, “Oh but you must go! Even without the knowledge from the future, this is an opportunity for the Inquisition to gain powerful allies.”

Commander Cullen scoffed, “ _Noble_ allies. Not the kind of power we need.”

“Nonsense.” Leliana chimed, “Noble allies have gold, patronage. They can add to our coffers what would take us months to do on our own. Plus, they always have the most _interesting_ gossip.”

Wren shook her head in shock, “Josephine I can understand, but _you_ , Leliana? I never took you for one who enjoyed The Game.”

The spymaster smiled slyly, “What am I but a glorified gossip monger?”

Cassandra cut in, waving the enthusiastic women away from Wren, “The possibility of nobles doing more than tolerating us can be discussed at another time. The point is, this ball is our chance to find out who is carrying out the Elder Ones assassination of the Empress.”

Nodding, Cullen pointed to the Orlais side of the war table map, “We don’t have enough agents or power in the area to let them take care of this, and perhaps the presence of the Inquisitor will draw our enemy out into the open.”

“It’s settled!” Josephine smiled broadly as she scribbled quickly on her parchment, “I will ensure that the Inquisition gets an invitation. In the meantime,” she turned to Wren, looking her over with an appraising eye, “we will need to get you fitted for a few dancing dresses and of course, evening gowns and visiting gowns are a must!”

Feeling like she missed something, Wren shook her head, “Josephine! I can’t possibly need that much. It’s only one ball.”

Cullen and Leliana laughed, though at least the Commander covered his with a cough when she turned her fiery glare to him. Cassandra raised a hand, “Ah, it is hard to remember that you were interred into the Circle so early, and really only knew the Fereldan nobles. The Orlesian masques are a bit… prolonged.”

Wren cocked an eyebrow, a heavy feeling of dread forming in her stomach. “Just _how long_ are these fetes?”

Josephine sighed happily, “Oh, some go on for a full month! There is dancing and carriage rides and jousting.”

Nope, not dread anymore. She felt too hollow with shock for dread, “A… month?”

Waving her quill, the courtesan gave a moue of disappointment, “Unfortunately, with a civil war going on, Empress Celene cannot afford to have such a marvelous occasion. These will be a chance for peace talks with Duke Gaspard as much as they are a chance to play The Game.” Hope flickered to life again, and the young mage perked up, hoping that her advisor’s next words would be ‘a day, two at most’. But of course, Fate was never so kind. “This ball will only be five days, though of course, we _must_ be there at least a week ahead of time.”

Deflated, Wren slumped into her chair, “Of course.”

Leliana was the one to sigh this time, “Oh how I have missed these grand occasions! I wonder who all will be there?”

Josephine turned to Wren again, the tip of her quill tapping her lower lip, “Tell me Inquisitor,” _Oh no, here it comes._ Wren flinched, peeking at her advisor through one squinted eye. “Do you know how to dance?”

*

If there was ever something to be grateful for with the Circles, it was that until she was older, Wren had never been expected to attend any political events, especially from Ostwick’s Circle. Her desk was now covered in books on dancing and decorum, as well as family trees and Orlesian histories. There were designs for dresses that she needed to approve and requisition orders to look over before they could leave. Then the housing arrangements must be made, which Vivienne insisted on taking care of (thank the Maker!), and of course, deciding who would come with her and who would continue working in and around Skyhold. Why in Thedas couldn’t she just send the aristocrats from her council and companions, and stay here herself? After two days in the constant company of Josephine or Leliana, Wren was ready to take on a dragon if it meant getting out of this ridiculous engagement. True, this ball would be a great chance for the Inquisition to spread its influence to Orlais. Yes, she wanted to stop the assassination on Empress Celene’s life. Of course, she wanted to stop Corypheus from gaining any more power than he already had. That didn’t mean she wanted to bow and curtsey and smile at every back stabbing, hyena in Halamshiral.

Having managed to slip away from her rooms early enough in the morning that Josie hadn’t sent for her yet, Wren was stalking the back gardens for a place to hide- hopefully, for the next month. Familiar voices, _male_ and thus safe for now, caught her attention. Coming around the corner of a topiary, she spied Dorian and Commander Cullen sitting under one of the awnings, a chess board before them.

“Gloat all you like, I _have_ this one.”

“Are you _sassing_ me, Commander? I didn’t know you had it in you.” Dorian looked genuinely surprised, spotting Wren and giving her a little wink.

Cullen shook his head, moving his piece in turn and muttering under his breath. It wasn’t until Wren was only a few feet away that he noticed her, and he nearly upended the table in his haste to stand, “Inquisitor!”

Dorian smirked at the commander’s embarrassed fumbling, “Leaving, are you? Does this mean I win?”

Wren waved Cullen away, “Sit Commander, don’t stop on my account.”

He hesitated only a moment, before seating himself again and tipping a hand to Dorian, “Alright, your move, then.”

Dorian shifted a rook forward, leaning on the table with casual grace, “You need to come to terms with my inevitable victory. You’ll feel much better”

Cullen laughed and moved his queen, “Really? Because I just won,” he chuckled and leaned back in his chair, “and I feel fine.”

Dorian examined the board in surprise, before raising his hands in surrender and getting up from his own chair, “Don’t get smug, Commander. There’ll be no _living_ with you.” The mage leaned over and gave Wren a friendly peck on the cheek, “Do take him down a notch, love. Before his ego gets too large to fit in that tiny office of his.”

Laughing, she waved him off.

Cullen, still smiling with his victory, gave her a bow of the head, “I _should_ get back to my own duties, but if you would like a game Inquisitor…”

Wren grinned and settled into the so recently vacated chair across from him, “By all means. Set the board, Commander.”

He reshuffled the board, placing each well-worn piece carefully back on its square. “If I had known you played, I might have asked you to join earlier.”

Smiling, she pulled the chair closer to the board, “I learned in the Circle as soon as I could bother the older children into teaching me. I wasn’t very good, but I enjoyed playing. Dinall almost always beat me, though.” First move went to her, and she took a cautiously, probing move.

Cullen smiled, his tone relaxed. “As a child, I would play this with my sister. She would get this stuck-up grin whenever she one, which was _all the time._ My brother and I practiced together for _weeks_. Ah, the look on her face the day I finally won.” The smile dropped a little, “Between serving the Templars and then the Inquisition, I haven’t seen them in years…I wonder if she… still plays.”

It was wonderful to relax and concentrate on the game and the enjoyable conversation, they both played carefully, testing the others techniques before deciding on their own. “I didn’t know you had siblings.”

Cullen’s technique became obvious, offensive, but never overly brash or aggressive, “Two sisters and a brother. Do you have siblings, Inquisitor?”

Wren quirked an eyebrow at him as she took up a defensive strategy, “I would that that is something Leliana would have told you.”

A blush crossed his cheeks and he seemed worried, “I do not mean to pry-“

She laughed, cutting him off before he could feel too badly, “You are not prying, Commander. I am just used to my advisors knowing more of my that I wish. I have an older sister, long married and likely to inherit, and a half-brother from my mother’s first marriage.”

Cullen tipped his head in confusion, “Your brother will not inherit?”

Now she felt herself go defensive in more than just the game, “Ah, no. He was not considered… appropriate do inherit from my mother’s side.”

Sensing her discomfort on the subject, he changed it smoothly, “My siblings moved to South Reach after the Blight. I do not write to them as often as I should, but my sister hounds me none the less. I suspect that she is in correspondence with Josephine.”

Laughing, Wren sat back for a moment to examine the board, and the commander, “No doubt Josephine was the one who initiated it.”

Cullen gave a half smile, shaking his head, “Normally I would agree, but my sister…”

“You two were close?”

“Growing up, yes, before the Templars, that is. I am sure she saw me more as an annoying younger brother, but still…”

Wren studied him for a moment, watching the emotional play across his face, before making her move and continuing their conversation, “Were you eager? To join the Templars, I mean.”

“Eager does not really cover it. I knew what I wanted to be at a very young age. I was eight, I think, when I announced to my family that I was going to be a Templar. They laughed, of course, but I was serious. I began bothering the few Templars in Honnleath to teach me anything they could.” He smiled, remembering those youthful times. “They were very tolerant, and even taught me a bit of swordplay.”

“When did you finally join?”

“Ah. I was thirteen, rather older than most recruits. A passing knight-captain had seen me practicing and heard from the local Templars of my desire.”

“Was it everything you hoped?”

“Oh yes, and more. I worked hard and learned fast, catching up to my peers quickly. I took my vows at eighteen, and served under Knight-Commander Greagoir at the Kinloch Circle.”

There was a tension in his shoulders, so Wren shifted the subject a little. “Do Templars take vows? Swearing to the Maker to protect people from mages, or some such thing?”

He rubbed his neck, obviously choosing his wording carefully, “There’s a vigil first. You’re meant to be at peace during that time, but your life is about to change. I don’t know any recruit who wasn’t excited and terrified during the entire thing. It is after that vigil that you take your vows and your first draught of lyrium.” There was a reverence in his voice that Wren found fascinating, but did not question yet.

However, another question wormed into her mind, and she smirked, knowing it would make the commander uncomfortable, “Are you expected take… _other_ vows?”

He tipped his head, pausing in the process of moving his piece to look at her curiously. “Like what?”

“Are Templars expected to give up… _physical_ temptations?”

As predicted, his face flared red and his fingers knocked over the pawn he was moving, “ _Physical?_ Why would you- I mean… Ah, no. That’s… not expected.” He struggled to regain composure, righting his piece and moving it carefully, “There are some who give… _more_ to the order. Templars are allowed to marry, with the Order’s permission of course.  But giving up more is… not required.”

“Have you?” Somehow, she managed to keep a straight face, only a politely cocked eyebrow and the tiniest twitch of her lip showing anything.

The Commander looked surprised, “Me? I’ve- I, uh, no. I’ve made no such vows.” He shook his head, cheeks and ears adorably flushed, “Maker’s breath. Can we speak of something else?”

“As you like, Commander.” Wren ducked her head and covered her mouth with her hand, on the pretense of examining the board with intensity.

They played in a companionable silence for a time, though she felt the Commander’s eyes on her more than once. Finally, he spoke, leaning back and rolling a shoulder, “This may be the longest we’ve gone without discussing the Inquisition, or related matters.”

Wren glanced up, smiling at him softly, “It has been nice, not thinking about any of it for a time.”

Cullen gave her a nod, “To be honest, I appreciate the distraction.”

The next words came out without Wren even thinking about them, “We should spend more time together.”

He looked up sharply, a goofy grin spreading across his face, “I would like that.”

She felt a blush and a smile pull her own lips up, “Me to.”

Almost under his breath, she heard him whisper, “You said that…” Rousing, he glanced at the board, “We should… finish our game, right? My turn?” she nodded, and he moved another piece across the board.

The silence between them shifted this time. There was an underlying tension to it, a curious sort of pondering that they both shared. It made her nervous, excited, curious, all at once. There was a twinge of guilt there as well, a worry that, perhaps, others wouldn’t understand how _unrestrained_ a Circle was when it came to … these sorts of matters. So, with no idea how to discuss it, she threw herself into their game, carefully shifting from defensive, to a sneaky offensive while the Commander seemed distracted.

Finally, after making his move and realizing the flanking maneuver he had just walked into, he laughed lightly and leaned back, “I believe this one is yours. Well played.” His smile held a certain confidence to it that Wren could only respond to in kind, “We shall have to try again sometime.”

She smiled and stood, stretching her stiffening muscles carefully, “I look forward to it, Commander.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy nugalopes! 9 pages, and a second update in less than a week? What on earth is happening Dr. Fox?” Well my friends, that would be Camp NaNoWriMo. I have a goal of 50,000 words for April and between what I’ve posted and what I have still brewing on my computer, I’m already at 14,000 for this first week! That means you will likely get at least 6 chapters this month, assuming I don’t burn out completely! So, please comment, like, follow, favorite, and let me know you want to see more!
> 
> Finally, if some amazing artists wanted to draw the scene of Cole, Wren, and the Nug, I would be eternally grateful. I can’t draw people… Maybe a trade? I might even actually extend the scene as a little one-shot at some point, because it's cute in my head, but I didn't want to linger.


	14. Valley of Dreams

“Solas, help!” Wren’s voice echoed in the rotunda and the elf leapt from his chair and whirled, the magic at his hands ready to unleash upon whoever stalked her. She flung herself behind him with a squeal of fear, before hiding under his desk.

She heard the click of heels and yelped, tugging at the mage’s pant leg, “Sit down! Don’t betray me!” After only a moment’s hesitation, the elf sat, carefully tucking his legs to one side of her.

The clicking came closer and the door to the rotunda was pushed open. The voice Wren dreaded hearing piped up in polite query, “Solas! Have you seen the Inquisitor?” Josephine sounded both confused and annoyed, “I could have sworn she went this way.”

Solas, Creators bless him, kept a steady voice of polite disinterest, “How strange, Lady Montilyet. Has she gone missing?”

“Hmph. More like gone into hiding. The dresses are here and we _must_ have them fitted!”

“I will let her know that you search for her.” He paused a moment, “If there was nothing else...?”

“Oh, of course. Have a good day, Solas.”

“And you, Lady Montilyet.”

The clicking passed through the rotunda and out to the ramparts, but Wren didn’t move. Finally, a deep chuckle came from her savior, “I do believe she is gone, _da’len_.”

Huffing, Wren squirmed out from under the desk, noting that Solas not only didn’t move to make it any easier for her, but was smirking at her with a lifted eyebrow. She stuck her tongue out at him, just to match his quip at her, before dusting herself off and straightening her clothes. “Thank you, _hahren_.”

“Come now. Surely a dress fitting isn’t so bad?”

She shot him a glare, pulling her hair out of its loose knot, since it was already fraying, “ _You_ have never worn a dress, much less one like what Josie and Leliana want to stuff me into. I saw what the designs they were looking at. So much… _lace_.” She shuddered dramatically. Fingers tangling in her curls, she cursed and glared at the knot. When had her hair gotten so long? The curls were more like waves now, with the weight of it.

“Allow me.” Solas stood, not giving her the chance to respond, and gently turned her around with firm hands on her shoulders. She felt his fingers move deftly through the tangles, starting at the bottom and working up. It felt good, calming. By the time he’d made it up to her scalp she was limp and practically purring, his fingers massaging gently. A light tug at the base of her neck made her gasp, an answering growl coming from behind her. Suddenly he was standing almost flush against her back, one hand on her shoulder, one still tugging a handful of hair until she tipped her head to the side. She felt his breath ghost her exposed neck, and she whimpered, hoping and dreading to feel his lips or _teeth_ on the sensitive skin. Just as quickly as it happened, the cold air returned between them, and he was weaving strands of her hair together. Plucking the ribbon from her loose fingers, he tied off the end and turned her back around. “You are beautiful,” he whispered, eyes examining her closely. She couldn’t help but smile a little, feeling her cheeks heat again. He seemed shocked at his own words, but instead of stepping back like she expected, he lifted a hand, brushing the tops of her ear and tucking a rebellious curl behind it. “I might be willing to lay a false trail for our persistent ambassador, if you will give me one request?”

Curious, she tipped her head to the side, “Yes?”

“Will you allow me to meet you in the Fade again?”

That wasn’t quite expected, but she smiled and agreed easily, “Of course, Solas.”

“She will expect to see you in your own rooms, but not mine.”

A shiver ran up her spine, but she pushed down the assumptions and smirked, “You are devious, hahren.”

He smiled back, the feral one he saved just for her, “You have _no idea_ , Da’ean’ma.”

*

The had agreed to wait for a couple of hours, while Solas sent Josephine on a wild hunt. Then he would stay in the rotunda, so as not to garner suspicion, while Wren hid in his room. She hid her laughter behind her hand each time she heard him turn poor Josie to a new direction. It seemed that the rest of the hold had caught on to the game and was agreeing with the claims that she had visited them or passed through on her way elsewhere. She might have felt bad about it, if it wasn’t so funny. Finally, she heard Josephine stomp into the rotunda, “Have it your way! She may have _today_ off, but I will have this fitting finished by tomorrow evening or there will be consequences for her _and you_.”

That had been too much, and Wren fell onto Solas bed, burying her face in his pillow to cover the laughter that was bursting from her. Only when the door creaked open and she heard Solas dark chuckle did she dare look up, still giggling. The fireplace leapt to life, and she saw Solas drop his arm, the light reflecting in his eyes, “There you have it, Da’ean. The rest of the day is yours.”

Shaking her head, she pulled her feet up onto the bed and flopped more comfortably against his pillow, “No, it is yours.” A visible shudder ran up his body, and he took a step towards her. The air between them felt static, and her mouth ran dry, leaving her stuttering and suddenly unsure, “I- ah. To the F-fade?”

There was a moment’s pause, and some primal fear bubbled under the surface of her skin, but the elf shifted and he was simply Solas again, “Of course. I will see you there shortly, da’len.”

It was a little strange to try to fall asleep in his bed. She hadn’t noticed at first, but the room was simply saturated with his smell. Musky, earthy, and just… Solas. It was distracting, especially after how he acted today… Shaking her head she concentrated on the desire for sleep and the meditation that would take her more consciously into the Fade. Rarely did she do this on purpose. Sleeping, a mage could not help but delve into the realm of dreams and spirits, but they were asleep and learned to guard their mind. Doing it deliberately, stepping across that boundary with the intent of observing the world, was something wholly different. It put a mage at greater risk of possession from larger demons, because they acted like a beacon- their magic a bright light to all.

Eyes tightly shut, she was starting to feel like she should just give up and go to her own bed, when she felt the brush of magic against her and someone nearby laughing softly, “If you concentrate any harder, Da’ean’ma, you will warp the Fade beyond reasoning.”

Opening her eyes she whipped around, and realized that she was standing in the Fade. Skyhold held a presence in both worlds, and she could just barely make it out- spires of shimmering stone. The harder she concentrated on it, the more it wavered, however. Solas laughed again, brushing her shoulder, “This is a place you must let form around you, not a place you can dictate. It is so steeped with intentions and magic that it needs no Dreamer to define it. Relax, and perhaps it will show its glory to you.” Nodding, she tried to let go. The walls faded in and out a moment, but her mind kept trying to take their twisted corridors and form them into the familiar. Solas sighed, smiling good naturedly. “We will try another time. I had a different purpose for tonight.”

“Oh? And that would be…?”

He waved his hand and the Fade rippled in response, the Hinterlands- more specifically, the Crossroads- appearing around them. By the empty sky and the calm murmur of the faceless locals, she determined that this was before the Conclave. Solas walked up the road a ways, his hands clasped behind his back, towards the horse master’s farm. “It has come to my attention that I know very little of your past- the pleasant parts, that is.”

Wren followed easily, finding that if she thought too hard about walking, the ground met her foot more swiftly than she expected. “What did you want to know?”

“Everything.” He stated simply.

She laughed, relaxing, “There is a lot of ‘everything’ to tell, hahren.”

“You say the Circle became your family. What were they like?”

“We couldn’t have had this conversation outside of the Fade?”

Solas gave her a smile that told her the answer, so she sighed and looked around herself. She sorted through her memories of her little clan, the world around them flickering a little, until she came to the perfect one. It had everything to explain her Circle.

Closing her eyes, she built up the scene slowly, one layer at a time, one part at a time, one soul at a time. Each part of the memory so clear that she could feel the heat from the bonfire and the cool breeze from the incoming fall. Smells of roasting ram and spilled mead filled the air. Laughter, lively music, and raucous carousing echoed in the mountains that had built up around her. Taking a steadying breath, she opened her eyes.

The bonfire flickered as the shadows of dancers passed between it and the pair of watchers. Young adults, ranging from barely old enough to think of love up to those who would normally have started a family, bounced on their feet and leaped through the air, noises of celebration and delight coming from each of them. Wren smiled sadly watching them. This was the last time they were all together and happy. It was when they’d been told that the Divine would be calling the mages and Templars to the Conclave for peace talks.

Solas’ voice startled her from her left, “There are more than I thought.”

Wren laughed softly, somehow heard easily above the noise, “We met up with a few other groups, mostly youngsters. The few older mages were camped nearby, having retired from the celebrations earlier.”

“Ah, the exuberance of youth.”

Taking his hand, Wren led him around the fire to where a cluster of people, all in their mid to late twenties, were perched on felled trees, passing a jug of cheaply made wine between them. Dinall was the easiest to recognize, standing out from the group both in sheer size and dark complexion. He was leaning over, whispering in the ear of the lightly grey-skinned man beside him, who was blushing and laughing- the intent between them obvious. Wren herself, her hair barely below her ears, no scar marring her face and so much younger in appearance, was perched on the second man’s lap and leaning against his shoulder. She was turned away from Dinall and talking to a beautiful, raven haired, elven woman beside her, both women obviously drunk and enjoying the night.

Solas smiled at the scene, remembering a few similar ones from his own youth. “Who is the man you are sitting on?”

“That is Tristan. Our little Qunari half-breed.”

Surprised, Solas found his eyebrows were raised high, “I wasn’t aware they could breed with humans.”

Wren shrugged casually, “He thinks there was some sort of blood magic involved. Maybe the Qun wanted a hybrid or new stock or some such nonsense. He only was that grey when we left the circle. Before then, he just looked really pale, almost sickly. This is his version of a tan, I guess.”

“And the woman?”

Shaking her head, Wren sighed, “I never did learn her name. She came from one of the smaller Circles. Curt was enamored with her. Ah, speaking of…” As she spoke, the elf in question came back from wherever he’d wandered off to, pausing to clap Dinall’s shoulder and lean down to steal an obviously loving kiss from Wren. Solas made a startled noise from beside her, then repeated it when Curt bowed to the female elf, offering her his hand. Fade-Wren laughed and gave the woman a good-natured shove to her feet, encouraging the pair to dance. Tristan stood, startling the younger Wren, and twirling her around before setting her on her feet with a playful bite to her neck, demanding a dance with her in a low, growling voice.

Before long, all of them were dancing with each other or other young mages. Curt was more reserved, obviously older than the rest of the clan. Tristan was young and rambunctious, picking up any of the women or men that were smaller than him to spin around with them before placing them, laughing with new dance partners. Dinall wasn’t dancing much, but he was talking and laughing. You could see, like a string of magic, the connection the four of them had. Never was one of them far from the others, and any time one of the strange mages got to rowdy or handsy with any of them, the others would smoothly step in. They protected each other, encouraged each other, and cared for each other above all else in the world.

Solas watched without word, but his calm stance was more that of him studying than his disapproval. After watching the party start to wind down as the horizon started to turn pink, he turned to Wren, confusion obvious, “Is the life of the Circle truly so different than outside of it?”

The scene around them flickered and faded, leaving a mostly still, empty landscape of the mountains. That was a question she wasn’t sure how to answer. “I… I don’t know as much about the world outside of the Circle.”

“But you are aware of the differences.”

Shrugging a little, she turned, looking out over the charcoal landscape. “It is different. It has to be, in order to stay safe from itself.”

“Explain it to me.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, a half-hearted smirk playing her lips, “You truly are an apostate, aren’t you Solas?” He only raised an eyebrow in response, so she sighed and tried to sort her thoughts. “Every Circle is different. What works for one may not work for another. They each have a culture, a flavor, that is unique to them. Ostwick was my home, and I learned its ways more than those of other Circles, so I cannot speak to them.”

“Then tell me of Ostwick.”

Realizing that she wasn’t going to shake him from this questioning, she waved her hand and a soft version of the Ostwick tower appeared. The stood in the library on the third floor, around them were faceless mages, mostly young, running to grab books or put them back, taking notes and consulting each other softly. Soldiers- _Templars_ with dark faces and an ominous presence stood guard at the doors. “Our morning started with study in the Library. We were expected to anticipate what our instructors would be teaching us later. It was both a test and a way to force us to connect different aspects of magic.” The room wavered, and they were in a courtyard with students lined up, going through forms for a specific spell, only some few of them showing the magic that they were supposed to be working on. “Forms in the courtyard were next.” Again, Templars were lining the outer edge of the courts, more here than in the library. The scene wavered again, a classroom with older mages walking down the rows of students. “History, lineage, magical theory, politics. All learned under the tight thumb of our elders.” Even here, two Templars stood at the door.

Finally, the scene changed to a dorm style room- stacked beds lined the walls, each with a trunk and a small writing desk. Young mages lounged on the beds in pairs or groups, laughing, talking, or a few even exploring young romance. Even here, Templars guarded the doors. “A Circle is dangerous to begin with. Mages, as you know, are susceptible to demonic possession, even more so when emotion runs high. Some Circles try to suppress that emotion. But youth is nothing but emotion. You cannot control or contain it. What might work as an adult, does not work as you are just blossoming from childhood.”

Solas raised an eyebrow at her, “So Ostwick encourages it?”

Shaking her head, Wren indicated a trio, two young men and a young woman, only loosely defined in features and leaning against each other on one bunk. The soft murmurs and gentle touches between them leaving the obvious impression of intimacy, “No, they avoid it by taking away those things that are most likely to make young adults overflow with excessive emotion, particularly those negative ones that attract demons so easily. Jealousy, rage, envy. Why fight over that which can be freely shared? Why silently boil in your own petty dramas, when the Circle is small and there is nowhere to escape?” The scene shimmered again to a courtyard, attached to the dorms. Here, young mages ran laps, or played games of speed and dexterity, or had matches of strength and cunning. “ _’Energy suppressed for the means of control is energy unleashed without control._ ’” She quoted, smiling at the antics she was once so familiar with. “Mages who have not yet passed their Harrowing are at the most risk. Their emotions are as wild as their spirits. Some more than others.” The Fade began to ripple, and for a moment, the ghost-image of fire burned through the courtyard, and an echo rang in her ears- like screams sharply cut off. “We were lucky. Luckier than most. Tranquility was comparatively rare in Ostwick… There were… _other_ punishments that the Templars used. Ones that were far more likely to achieve results…”

A touch to her hand startled her, and she turned to find Solas staring at her, studying her. He shook his head, his voice low and dangerous, “Those are not punishments. They used their power to control you as much as other Circles. There was no purpose beyond power.”

Not trusting herself to talk, she merely nodded. He stared at her longer, eyes darting between hers, and something in them softened-shifted. The older mage turned away from her and waved his hand, bringing the scene that she’d first brought him back, though the participants were more spaced out and Fade-Wren was not among the revelers. The music thrummed through them, different than she had remembered it, more wild, more primal. It weaved through her body and spirit, pulling her with it and making her want to _move_. Solas turned around to face her, a small, but devious smile playing on his lips. With a bow, he held his hand out to her, “Come, dance with me, Da’ean’ma.”

Feeling her heart swoop, she reached for his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter again plus bonus cliffhanger!


	15. As the People Danced

It was Cole who found her hiding place, though she couldn’t regret that he came to her. “She worries that you hold her own nature against her, that what you do is not out of play, but out of true distaste.”

Wren rubbed the bridge of her nose, blinking owlishly at the boy perched on the end of the bed, “You mean Josie?” Her brain was a little sluggish to catch up to him, but since there was only one person recently who that sentence might apply to, it wasn’t too difficult to connect the dots. Still, it was hard to pull her mind completely out of the Fade, the warmth of the fire and the thrum of the prima music still pulsing through her veins. Not to mention the expectant eyes of a certain elven apostate…

Cole nodded, tipping his head as if listening, “She has tried so hard. With you. With Cassandra. Only Leliana still feels the thrill of The Game.” The assassin turned back to Wren, head tipping the other way and confusion evident on his face, “Why do they play, if they know that losing could mean death? No game is worth that cost.”

Sitting up, she stretched and shook her head, “I do not know, Cole. I suppose they like the danger. The same way some people enjoy dragon hunting.”

“Like The Iron Bull?”

Wren gave a half-surprised bark of laughter, quirking an eyebrow at him, “Really? Well, I suppose that shouldn’t be so surprising.” Finally standing, she held her hand out to her friend, “Come on. Let’s go get some sweet bread from the kitchen and take it to Josie to apologize. Maybe you can help me learn to dance.”

His face lit up as he took her hand and followed after her, “She likes the ones that are a little spicy. And I like dancing.”

That surprised her, and she smiled encouragingly at him, “You have danced before?”

“No. But it makes people happy. I would like to dance.”

They passed through the rotunda, Wren pausing in guilt for leaving Solas in the Fade. But since he had not woken up, he must not be too upset. Lifting a finger to her lips to keep Cole from waking the elf, she led them with soft steps out the room.

As they took the twisting paths to the kitchen, Cole spoke again, “He cares, more than he thinks he should. Your first secret only endeared you to him. Your second secret won’t change that.”

Shaking her head, she sighed and pushed the last door open, the smell of dinner still lingering. How long had she been asleep? Well, hopefully Josephine would still like desert. “You can’t know that Cole. Not for sure.”

Confused again, he helped her gather the drinks and rolls, “Why would it matter? It would make you more like him. He struggles with the differences.”

“He already dislikes them.”

“No, he dislikes what made them the way they are. Like soft, brittle reflections of what was. It hurts him to know that they are so far from what was.”

She smiled sadly, taking the tray of rolls and handing him the tray of drinks, “And he won’t dislike me for the same?”

“He will only be sad that you did not trust to tell him earlier.”

That startled her, and she paused at the door, “…Perhaps.”

The matter finished for now, the quiet pair made their way back through the keep with Cole leading unerringly to the ambassador’s office. There she was, sitting at her desk and scribbling away, looking more tired than her usual perky self. Guilt stabbed through Wren again, and she cleared her throat softly, startling the woman a little, “I brought reparations,” she joked softly, lifting the tray of rolls, while Cole mimicked her movement with the drinks. Josephine smiled cautiously, setting aside her quill. Wren placed the tray on the fireside table, indicating for Cole to do the same, “I also brought a dance partner.”

The boy looked at Josie in earnest, repeating his sentiment from earlier, “I would like to dance.”

That was enough to break the ice, and the ambassador clapped her hands, grinning widely, “Oh! Then we will need a partner for me! I believe Dorian said he was quite good.”

When the Tevinter joined them, he was already in what he called “The only appropriate dancing attire,” which looked, to Wren, incredibly expensive to just be dancing around in. He and Josephine both insisted on Wren wearing the same shoes she would be dancing in later, and even had Cole take off his hat (though he seemed greatly disappointed that he wouldn’t be wearing it to the Winter Palace).

The first hour was spent with much stepping on toes and gently chiding the newer dancers. The second hour was spent with Dorian sitting beside the fire, sipping his wine and flaunting his greatness on the dance floor while Josephine very carefully did not yell at him- though her words were only just this side of polite. When Cole asked why they were both so concerned about his and Wren’s dancing skills, when they were only thinking about their preferred dance partners, both of the teachers stopped bickering and dove back into teaching.

The four of them spent the rest of the evening dancing and laughing, Dorian and Josephine quickly leaving their discomfort around Cole in favor of smiling at his persistent attempts to dance to the different music in each of their heads. Wren wasn’t sure that she actually improved much, but she had fun, and felt more connected to her companions by the end of it.

When the breathless ambassador called it a night, they all parted ways smiling. Deciding she needed to check on Solas, Wren knocked softly, pushing it open when she received no answer. There was Solas, still sleeping on his couch, his brow twitching down at something from the Fade-dreams. So often his expression was guarded, even around her, and a mask of polite indifference blocked his thoughts from those around him. Even The Iron Bull had made a comment recently about Solas being a ‘tough nut to crack.’ To see him sleep, face changing expression even slightly, made her smile. She wished that there was a way to bring a little comfort, a little trust, to him.

Shaking her head, she walked over to the table beside him, blowing out the candle so that the light wouldn’t wake him. Before she walked away, his soft voice stopped her, “I hope I did not overstep, Inquisitor.” There was just a hint of worry there, something that the others might not catch.

Wren turned, rolling her eyes with a small smile, “No, you did not, _Hahren_. Cole woke me to steal your dance.”

One thin eyebrow rose up, “Cole dances?”

Wren laughed, thinking of how adorable he had looked trying to match the steps, “He does now!”

A soft chuckle escaped, his eyes slits as he looked up at her, “I wish I could have seen that.”

Wren brushed her fingers against his shoulder, “It was definitely interesting. Perhaps he will dance at the Winter Palace.”

*

“Abomination! Demon! Spawn of the Void!”

Wren rubbed her temples, snarling to herself silently as the cook ranted. This woman was driving her spare, and if she didn’t shut up soon, the mage worried that her actions would become rather extreme. This particular kerfuffle had been going on for about ten minutes now. A messenger had been sent to find her after the cook apparently _demanded_ an audience with both the Inquisitor herself and Commander Cullen. Thinking it was something serious, she’d rushed here as soon as she was dressed, skipping even breakfast, to find that the conversation was not only trivial, but that the woman wouldn’t even let Wren or the Commander get a word in edge wise.

She closed her eyes, trying to take a few calming breaths and count backwards from twenty. When her eyes opened to slits, she spotted Cullen’s sword hanging from the wall. _I don’t think it would shut her up to wave it at her. I’d have to hit her upside the head._ She had to suppress a giggle at the thought, the urge quickly passing as the older woman’s tirade continued.

“It will Curse us all! The Maker’s wrath will be brought down on us! ‘They could not feel, could not touch. In blackest envy were the demons born-‘“

 _That’s it!_ Wren snapped, whirling to face the woman, “Don’t quote the Chant to _us_! Cole is NOT a demon! He, unlike you, is a compassionate being who only wishes to help others! If you cannot stand to be around him, then you may _leave_ the Inquisition!”

The woman gaped at her, stuttering and flapping a hand uselessly. Cullen sighed, rubbing his own temple as she had been, “Inquisitor, that is a little much-“

She snarled at him, pointing at the woman beside her, “This woman is too much! I will not have my companions’ names sullied by ignorance and unfounded fear! We owe Cole our lives! He warned us about Corypheus and helped us find the way out of Haven! Since being here he has helped dozens of people, including this blasted woman. Just because this _druffalo_ wasn’t there to see it, doesn’t mean she can flap her jaws and accuse my companion of such drivel as stealing plums!”

The cook gave an aggravated screech, sounding like a strangled nug to Wren, “Commander!”

He held up a hand, obviously done with this whole episode, “I’m sorry, my lady, but in this Wren is right. If you have a grievance against one of our soldiers, you may state it for inquiry. But we cannot have you sullying the name of one who helped so many. Good day.” The woman flapped and stuttered, and the commander pointed to the door firmly, “I said, good day.”

Realizing that she was outnumbered and not going to receive the sympathy she thought, the cook stumbled and stuttered her way out the door, one of the guards taking her arm and escorting her down the parapet. As the door closed, Wren let out a whoosh of air, turning with a half-smile to Cullen- only to find the ex-Templar standing inches from her, anger turning his face a deep red, “ _Inquisitor_. If you cannot keep your _companion_ in line, I will ensure that someone else takes care of it.”

Wren puffed up, standing practically on her tip toes, “Cole is not an _it!_ He had his reasons, and while they may be convoluted, you should be thanking him for all he’s done! I _told_ you already why he did everything. He’s a child, trying to keep the peace!”

“And I told _you_ that he is dangerous and should not be allowed to run wild in the keep!”

“He’s about as dangerous to any of us as a wild Nug!”

“Even a Nug can bite!”

“You insufferable, stubborn, bull-headed-“

“ _I’m_ bull-headed?”

“Yes!” They were nose to nose now, breath panting across each other’s face, the air crackling with their emotions. His eyes were narrowed, but the pupils were blown wide and something in them shifted. Suddenly the air held a very different sort of tension than had been there just moments before, and the heat from their argument quickly changed in her veins to a very different sort. The commander licked his lips, Wren’s eyes darting to follow the glisten his tongue left behind. Their eyes skimmed over each other again, and she felt her heart flutter when she realized he was leaning closer to her…

The door to the office swung open, causing them to startle back from each other as a messenger walked in. “Commander. You wanted a copy of Sister Leliana’s report.”

Cullen turned, his voice a snarl of anger, “ _What?”_

Looking up, the scout seemed confused, “Sister Leliana’s report? You wanted it delivered ‘without delay.’” It wasn’t until the commander stalked up, displeasure rolling off of him in waves that the poor soldier realized something was wrong. He glanced up at Wren, who busily turned to study the bookshelf behind her with her face burning. _Was he really going to…?_ No, she dismissed that thought quickly. He might flirt with her, and she might with him, but there was no way… Right?

“…Or… At another time… Right.” She heard the footsteps retreat and the door close hurriedly behind him.

Sighing, she started to turn, an apology on her lips, “If you need to-“

But her words were cut off as Cullen pushed her against the shelf, one hand coming up behind her head and his lips crashing into hers. Her nose was filled with his scent- wood smoke and vellum, and he tasted like clove- sharp and sweet. Shock kept her still for a moment, but she couldn’t help the satisfied little sound that was swallowed by him and her eyes fluttered closed as her hands slid to his sides.

There was confidence and power in the kiss, and despite the soft background hum of lyrium, she felt protected.

Just as she started to feel a little dizzy with it all, he pulled back, his eyes a little surprised and a lot pleased, “I’m sorry. That was um…” his cheeks flushed and even his ears turned pink in embarrassment.

Wren couldn’t help but smirk, though she was surprised herself, “I believe that was a kiss. But I can’t be sure, it’s all a blur.”

He chuckled nervously, taking a little step back “Yes… Well…”

She felt conflicted, and more than a little confused. She knew the Commander cared about her, but this was… Not unwelcome, just a surprise. They had just gone from being at each other’s throats to… Well. Once, she had feared that anything between her and the Commander would have been impossible- a Templar and a mage never ended well. But over the last few weeks, months really, she had stopped looking at him as a Templar, and started looking at him as a friend. Still, this wasn’t something she had been prepared for. “I… I should leave you to your work.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking unsure of himself now. “O-of course, Inquisitor. I’m sure you have… Things to do.”

Making her way to the door closest to the keep, she paused, and turned a little back to him, “Cullen?”

He stopped on his way back to his desk, still pink in the cheeks, “Yes, Inquisitor?”

Unable to help but laugh softly, she shook her head, “How many times must I tell you, call me Wren?”

He gave her a lopsided grin and a little nod of his head, “At least once more, Inquisitor.”

Leaving the door a moment, she stepped back to him and stood on her toes, brushing a kiss along his stubble-roughened jaw, “Good night, Cullen.”

As she hurried out the door, she heard him speak softly before the it closed behind her, “Goodnight… Wren.”

*

Dinall shifted his legs grumbling under his breath about Wren’s ‘bony mage ass,’ only making her laugh and wiggle in his lap to dig her bones in further. With a grunt, he prodded her sides until her giggling caused Dorian to poke his head around his chair, “While I’m sure most people find your antics _adorable_ , some of us actually _read_ when in a library.” Dinall did little to acknowledge the other Tevinter, and Wren merely stuck her tongue out at him. Rolling his eyes, he turned back to his book, “Yeess, so _very_ charming, Inquisitor.”

Pursing her lips, the young mage wiggled off of her friend’s lap and bounced over to the grousing mage, hands on the back of his chair, “Dorian, love, who has you all ruffled this morning?”

Sighing dramatically, he snapped his book closed and looked up at her with as much of a scowl as he ever dared make (without wrinkling anything prematurely), “Why nothing at all! I would simply like some peace and quiet to study this awful collection of ‘books’ that fill this dull place.”

Confused, Wren looked over her shoulder to Dinall for help, who rolled his eyes, “He’s upset you haven’t invited him to Halamshiral.”

With a sputter of indignation, Dorian poked his head around his chair again and snarled at the other mage, “I will thank you to keep your mouth shut on matters you aren’t involved in.”

Wren bopped Dorian on the head with a playful scowl, “You really think I was going to leave you here?”

He sniffed and traded the book in his hand for one of the others in the pile beside him, “I assumed you would be taking Vivienne or someone equally scandal free, particularly since you did not give me an invitation.”

She couldn’t help but laugh at his affected indifference, throwing herself down into his lap and putting her arms around his neck, “I didn’t think I had to! Without you there to distract everyone’s need for gossip, I might do something absolutely horrendous, like wear the wrong shoes!”

He looked at her wiggling toes with a raised eyebrow and a smirk tugging at his lips, “Are you actually going to allow our lovely ambassador to put shoes on your barbarically calloused feet?”

She leaned close to him and in a loud, faux conspiratorial whisper managed to say (without laughing), “I hear she even intends for them to have _heels_.”

Grinning widely, he stood up, lifting her up with him, “Then I truly _must_ go with you! Oh, but I barely have time to pack!”

Dinall snorted, his nose still buried in his book, “A full day is definitely enough for you to pack. Lucky for you, Josie has a new wardrobe for everyone, waiting for us in Halamshiral.”

Dorian wrinkled his nose at him, before turning the disgusted look to the woman in his arms, “ _He’s_ coming with us?”

Wren felt like rolling her eyes again would be a bit much for such a short time, so just hit his shoulder and squirmed out of his grasp, her feet touching the plush carpet softly, “Yes, Dorian, my _brother_ is coming with us. He won’t be at the ball, but I need him there for the trip there and the week _before_ the ball to do some digging among the local mages. I can’t, because I’m so recognizable-“ she wiggled her left hand at him, “-and you can’t because you simply ooze smarm, making you rather _memorable._ ”

He preened a little at that, before huffing dramatically, “You do have a point. Someone so easily _forgettable_ is by far the better choice for that sort of thing.” Wren had to bite the inside of her lip to keep silent, and out of the corner she saw Dinall snarl to himself. “Very well, I’ll go pack and make sure Josie has all my needs for the fete ready.” With a brief kiss to her cheek, the flamboyant mage left to bother the ambassador.

Turning a soft scowl on her Circle brother, Wren put her hands on her hips and tapped her foot impatiently. Dinall ignored her for nearly a full minute, before sighing and closing his book to look up at her, “Yes, Sidas?”

“When are you two just going to _fuck_ and get it over with?” Not waiting for an answer, she stomped past him and down the same stairs Dorian had just descended, though her destination was closer. She could hear her brother sputtering above her, as well as a few of the mages that tended the library giggling behind their hands. The two Tevinter mages had been snipping and snapping at each other ever since arriving here at Skyhold, and most of the keep realized that it was sexual tension, not actual animosity. Personally, Wren was so thoroughly annoyed that she was tempted to lock the two of them in a closet until they sorted out their _issues_. No, not a closet- Dorian would get distracted. Hm.

Taking the steps a few at a time, she burst into the rotunda, her question stumbling out before even a greeting, “Where would _you_ lock those two away?”

Solas turned from where he was adding to his mural, one eyebrow swooped up in mild surprise, “Good day to you, Inquisitor.”

Blushing a little, she smirked at him, “Good day, Solas. Now answer the question.”

With a very put upon expression, he started cleaning his brushes and closing the lids of his paint pots, “Perhaps that is a question better proposed to The Iron Bull.”

That was a surprising answer, and Wren settled down onto the couch, “Really? Why Bull?”

Solas smirked at her this time, but didn’t answer. Knowing that she wouldn’t get more out of him, she watched him work, meticulously cleaning and putting away each instrument, wiping down the table, and wiping the paint smudges from his hands. She wasn’t entirely sure what his mural was about, though she knew it told a story. When she’d asked him about it, he merely smiled, though sadly, and told her that he would explain it to her if, in a few months, she still wasn’t sure.

Delving for a subject change, Wren settled on something more neutral. “Have you packed already? Josie said she wasn’t sure if you needed anything more than the one trunk.”

“The one trunk is sufficient. I have little need of extravagant outfits.”

With a dramatic groan, Wren flung one arm over her eyes and lay her head back over the couch, “Don’t remind me! There is an entire carriage of just _dresses_.” Sitting up she stared at him in abject horror- “ _Dresses_ , Solas! I’m there to stop an assassination, not dance with every noble in Thedas!”

He paused, a little smile tugging his lips, before taking a few steps closer to the couch and towering over her, “Perhaps not every noble, but there are more than a few that will want a turn.” He leaned down, one finger holding her chin in place, “And one elven apostate whom is owed a dance.” There was that feral glint in his eyes again, and Wren swallowed hard. Nervousness and excitement and worry all warred in her chest, causing her heart to do a few somersaults before clenching. Once again, the thought drifted across her mind- _Will he understand?_

As quickly as he was there, he was back to his paints again, tidying up the last of them, “You’d best see to the last of the arrangements, Da’ean’ma. We leave very early in the morning.”

Taking that as a dismissal, she huffed and made for the exit, her fingers trailing along his shoulder as she passed by, “I will see you in the morning, hahren.”

“Mah’vir.”

Working her way through the busy courtyard, pausing here and there to greet those who called out to her, Wren let her feet take her to the stables, where Master Dennet was barking orders at the stable hands, trying to get the mounts ready for the long journey. Grinning, Wren slipped through the workers to her Hart, running her hand up his nose and letting him lip at her hair playfully, “Yes, Samahl, we’ll be on the road soon.”

“Solas has said that you ride well.”

Wren startled, though her Hart simply huffed and stamped a little. Leliana stood in the shadows of the barn, a small tilt to her head. Clutching her chest, Wren smiled sheepishly at the spymaster, “High praise, coming from him. I can’t take credit, though, Samahl is a fine mount.”

“We have received Warden Stroud’s report.”

Confused by the sudden subject change, Wren waited, unsure why this was being brought up now.

Leliana’s piercing eyes turned from the Hart back to the mage, “It seems that he has located some of the Wardens, and the news is rather grave. They have located a few Wardens in the Western Approach. Our scouts are not yet established, so there is some time, but you will need to go there as soon as we are finished in Halamshiral.”

Ah, that explained it. “I shall ensure that my companions pack for immediate departure.”

Thinking that was all, the mage was a little confused when the spymaster stepped closer- her hand gently brushing the Hart’s nose. “There is a related matter that I thought might… interest you. It would likely help in your travels in that desert.”

“Oh?”

A small smile, almost mischievous in nature, graced the woman’s lips, “I have a contact that has a rather… _unique_ mount. Perfectly suited for the desert environs. They are willing to let the Inquisition borrow it for that trek, and can have it delivered to an outpost along the way.”

Feeling like she was missing something vital to this conversation, Wren shrugged and smiled, “Well, if it is at least mostly broken, I imagine I shall be able to ride it.”

Giving her a brief nod, the spymaster smiled a little wider, “I will have it delivered to the outpost then, when you are ready to leave for the Western Approach.”

Returning her attention to her mount, Wren shrugged again and scratched his nose, “Looks like you’ll be coming home without me. Sand probably isn’t your forte.” He snorted and lipped at her hair, leaving her to laugh and try to wipe the slobber off. To be away from Fereldan for so long… She hoped that Warden Stroud would find what they needed to solve the issues quickly. Sand wasn’t really _her_ forte either…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, finally getting to story stuff again. I really want to spend less time on the quests and such and more time on just character development, so when I’m skipping things, don’t think it’s because I forgot, it’s just because I don’t wanna, you can't make me, and other childish things.  
> Also, I know that the mount I hint at isn’t technically received until certain requirements are met, but that’s boring and doesn’t fit my plot-nugs for the future. Oh, and who caught the Pirates of the Caribbean reference? Cause I'm a dork.
> 
> Translations:  
> (Quick reminder, whatever I can’t find already translated I’m doing myself, and I’m awful at it. So please, feel free to correct my Elvhen!)  
> Mah’vir- Tomorrow  
> Samahl- Laughter


	16. Your Last Breath, my Friends

Morning found nearly the entire Inquisition riding out of Skyhold. Perhaps not that many, but nearly every one of Wren’s companions were with her or would be once they reached Halamshiral. Sera had gone ahead with Vivienne and Josephine, to infiltrate the servants, while the other two were preparing the way for the Inquisitor herself. Iron Bull, his Chargers, and Varric, would be with them for the first few days of travel, but then would be splitting off with a contingent of Inquisition soldiers to help secure the way to the Western Approach- and hopefully establish a base of operations out there.

The need to impress the nobles warred with the need to protect Skyhold while they were gone and to keep a moveable military force ready to stand at each established main camp along the way. The Commander and the Ambassador had fought regularly and loudly about how many soldiers should be marching with them into the Orlesian city, and it wasn’t until Wren and Cassandra stepped in that any sort of compromise could be reached. In the end, the Inquisition would arrive with one hundred mounted cavalry, instead of foot soldiers. While the numbers were less impressive, the cavalry was not used for camps and as of that moment had no other important operation. Besides, a mounted force looked more impressive, since it took more training of both horse and rider. Despite their earlier bickering, both advisors seemed pleased by the outcome.

Now, however, Wren was regretting the decision. Half of the cavalry was ahead of her, kicking up dust even now in the normally muddy, early spring roads. A thin scarf covered her mouth and ears to keep the dust out, but that didn’t prevent it from getting into her boots, gloves, and even leather breeches. If she thought the blisters from her first trek into Orlais were bad, she severely underestimated the damage a bit of sand could do. At least Varric wasn’t looking so smug with his custom saddle, and even Solas seemed to take exception to the dust.

Deciding that she’d had quite enough of this, she spurred her Hart ahead to where Cassandra was riding, past the bothersome soldiers and their annoying dust cloud. She found both the Seeker and the Commander at the head of the column, arguing, as usual. Normally she would be a little more respectful and wait until they finished their discussion, but right now, after only a few hours on the trail, her temper was short enough to simply barge in- literally. While her Hart didn’t have the expansive antlers that Solas’ did, he was still impressive enough to startle the horses and break the shouting match between the two warriors. Not bothering to smile, since the cloth prevented them from seeing it, she dove right in to her conversation, “As lovely as I’m sure the Inquisition will look riding into Orlais in a massive column, do I really need to be part of said column the _entire_ trek there?”

Her sudden appearance along with the lack of any sort of transition, caught both of her advisors off-guard. Cullen revived first, obviously confused, “Ah-no, not as such…”

Before either of them could qualify that statement, she pulled the scarf off her face and gave them a dazzling smile, “Great! I’ll go gather a few of the others and we’ll meet you up the road in a couple days, right?” Turning Samahl around, she kicked him into a leaping canter and took a loop around the cavalry. Varric and Solas were exactly where she’d left them, so she waved them over to the edge of the road- both appearing grateful to be out of the immediate dust cloud.

“Let me guess, you got us out of class?” Varric said with a smirk.

Wren sighed with relief and laughed a bit, “I didn’t really give them a chance to say no.”

“Which is why,” the Seeker’s voice broke in, “I’ll be going with you.”

Wren didn’t turn in saddle, just gave her other companions a pleading look, and Solas kindly cut in, “Seeker. While we value your talents with the sword, perhaps it would be better to have you here, as a figure of religious authority, particularly if the Inquisitor is going to be going on ahead.” If they hadn’t such a large audience, Wren would have kissed him then and there- his inability to make a decision be damned! He’d worded it so perfectly to appeal to Cassandra’s values.

The Seeker was silent, and the younger mage did finally turn around so as not to appear rude. The woman was glaring lightly at them, but also had a twinge of unease. Solas had placed a seed that was quickly taking root. Jumping at her chance, again, Wren cut in, “It’s not like I’m going to be in danger, Cassandra. I’ll just be a day or two ahead of the main column. These roads are safe enough and we have scouts from here all the way to Halamshiral, should anything go wrong.”

Sighing and giving them a disapproving look, Cassandra finally seemed to acquiesce, “Fine then. I suppose it is easier to wave off the three of you going ahead than it is myself as well. But I expect you to check in with the scouts along the way.”

Feeling like she was being chastised, Varric and Wren both grinned and spoke at nearly the same time- “Yes, Mother.”

“Ugh!” Turning her horse back to the front, the Seeker trotted off, leaving the two troublemakers to laugh (and even Solas chuckled, though Wren was sure he’d never admit it).

Taking the lead, Wren turned her mount and took a long loop around the marching column, happily trotting over the rock outcroppings and between the bare trees. She could just make out tiny buds on a few of them, where new leaves would be unfurling in the month to come. As she passed around the front of the column, she gave a smile and sheepish wave to Commander Cullen and Cassandra, but didn’t slow down for fear they would have come up with an excuse on why she couldn’t go ahead. Sure, she enjoyed their company greatly, however, marching with a long line of soldiers for days on end? After all her time spent roving the Fereldan wilds with only a handful of companions, that sounded overcrowded and stifling. No, she’d take the open road, while she still could.

Varric trotted his horse up beside her, smirking still, “So, now that we’re away from the rabble, care to tell me about what’s going on between you and Curly?”

Her back stiffened and she glanced at him wide eyed, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Varric.”

“Riiight. Of course not. He just makes googly eyes at you all the time because you’re the Herald of Andreste. Got nothin’ to do with how you look at him.”

Snarling at him a little, though mostly playfully, she spurred the Hart forward a bit, just to end the conversation. He laughed from behind her shouting, “As you will, your Inquisitorialness!”

That dwarf…

Solas came up on her other side, wearing a similarly smug smirk, “The child of stone is not incorrect, Inquisitor. The Commander does seem to have an infatuation.”

Wren sighed and rolled her eyes at him, giving him a small grin, “You would know, wouldn’t you?”

Something gleamed in his eyes and he tipped his head in acknowledgment, surprising her a bit, “As I share his interest, yes.”

They still had not broached the subject of the kiss in the Fade, nor had he brought up her confession about his future-self’s actions. With no lighthouse to lead her to shore, she felt adrift in a sea of confusion and tension- of more than one kind. When he made comments like this, or acted in a way that was more than simply friendly, she wanted to clear the fog of uncertainty and find out what his intentions truly were. For a brief moment, she thought about bringing it up now, just to see what he’d do, but his own words cut her off.

“Now then, recite for me the names of the nobles who will be present at the fete.”

Groaning, she slumped down against her Hart’s antlers, “Hahren, really?”

Varric piped up from her left, having closed the gap between them, “I gotta agree with Wren, here. Isn’t that Ruffles job to annoy us with the political details?”

Solas merely smiled and waited expectantly.

Glancing pleadingly at the dwarf, Wren started the recitations. “From the northern region of Orlais, the Minor Dukes and Duchesses who will attend with their children-“

*

Their camp that night was not nearly as quiet as Wren had hoped, but they shared it only with a handful of scouts (at least two of whom she suspected of being sent to keep an eye on her). Thanks to an incoming spring storm they had retired early, but Wren was a little grateful for the excuse. Most of the day had been spent going over the names, houses, and allegiances of each of the nobles who would likely be in attendance at the grand soiree. While she and Varric had griped about it, Solas had insisted that politics were just as important at times as a well strategized battle. The two subjects were played by much the same rules, and the winners could gain the same prizes, though granted, with much the same amount of bloodshed, if you played as the Orlesian’s did. Wren had never taken the elf for a purveyor of The Game, but he was full of advice and tactics and amusing stories from the Fade.

“Remember, da’len, I will not be of much help to you once we are there. I am posing as your servant, and it would be seen as untoward for you to be seen seeking advice from me on these matters.”

Smiling shyly at him, she could not help the pleading tinge her voice took on, “I do hope that will not stop you from dancing with me?”

The smile he gave her was purely predatory, and it sent a shiver of pleasant apprehension down her spine, “Nothing will stop me from having that dance, Da’ean’ma.”

Not daring to enter the Fade after that, she slept with only her own dreams that night, full of faceless dancers and moonlight trysts.

Morning found her in a pleasant mood, and well rested. So it was more than a little disconcerting to see Solas already up and scowling at his cup.

Wondering if he’d simply woken up on the wrong side of the bedroll, she stretched and flopped down beside him, hoping to cheer him up, “Something wrong with your tea?”

He wrinkled his nose and set the cup down, “It is tea. I detest the stuff.” She raised an eyebrow, but let him continue when his face fell into something sorrowful, “But this morning, I need to shake the dreams from my mind.” Looking up at her, his eyes full of those night terrors, she felt something in her heart twist, “I may also need a favor.”

Placing her hand on his knee, she nodded, “You have only to ask.”

Nodding, he looked around at the scouts now stirring and tearing down camp, “Not here.” He stood, waiting for her to follow, before leading them a short distance from camp. Pacing, he spoke rapidly, “One of my oldest friends has been captured by mages, _forced_ into slavery. I heard the cry for help as I slept.”

Feeling her stomach turn over, Wren tried to gather more information- as far as she knew, Solas had no friends that he spoke of outside the Inquisition. “When your friend was captured, how did he- she…”

He looked up at her with a sad smile, “It.”

“It?”

“My friend is a spirit of Wisdom.” Somehow, that only startled the younger mage a little. After all, had he not discussed spirit friends before? “Unlike those spirits clamoring to enter our world through the rifts, my friend was dwelling quite happily in the Fade. It wants my help to gain its freedom and return to the Fade.”

Wren nodded, knowing- from their past discussions- that not all spirits were the same in their desire. “Do you have any idea what the mages _want_ with your friend?”

He deflated a little, fingers playing with the wolf jaw necklace, “No. It knows a great deal of Lore and History,” his eyes burned, though she knew the anger was not directed at her, “-but a mage could learn that simply by _speaking_ to it in the Fade!” He scowled now, fear running in an undercurrent to his voice, “It _is_ possible that they seek information it does not wish to share, and they intend to torture it.”

Since spending time with Solas and speaking with him extensively about spirits, Wren could only imagine the horror a mage could do to a gentle creature like Wisdom, and understood at least some of why that affected Solas so deeply, “Where are they holding it?”

His face lit up and he gestured to the map case on her hip, “Thank you! I got a sense of my friend’s location before I awoke. The Exalted Plains.”

Hurriedly, she unrolled the map for him and he showed her the general area where he managed to track his friend. It was not far, maybe three days of hard riding. If they left now, they should be able to return in time for the fete, and not have lost much face. Wren didn’t care much about that- she wanted to help his friend, but Solas insisted that she make it back in time.

As soon as Varric was out of his tent, Wren approached him cautiously, “I need to go with Solas to the Exalted Plains, now, and I would like you to come with us.”

With one eyebrow slowly creeping up, he nodded, “Ooo…kaaayy…. Mind telling me what for? Not that I really object, but Ruffles will kill us if we don’t get to Halamshiral in time, and Curly might help her if you disappear.”

She waved her hand impatiently, noting Solas already tearing down both of their tents and packing their mounts, “I can explain along the way. It’s for a good cause and an emergency. If you don’t want to risk Josie’s wrath, I’ll ask one of the others- though the delay might mean a life.”

The dwarf raised his hands in surrender, “Now now, I never said I wouldn’t go. If there’s a good story involved, then of course I’ll be along.”

Giving him a small smile, she breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Varric.”

It took little time for them to pack up, and Varric was smart enough to grab some extra rations before they left. Solas was impatient to start off, but he understood the necessity. Wren took the last few minutes they were preparing to write a quick letter to Cassandra, knowing that she, out of any of the companions or advisors, would be able to keep the others calm and explain the necessity. Wren left out the nature of Solas’ friend, but as that mattered littler to her or the elf, she did not exactly feel like it was a lie of omission.

Solas took the lead, pushing their mounts hard, but just barely within what they could handle. Wren knew that he was desperate to reach his friend, but aware that foundering the mounts would mean it would take them even longer. Still, they stopped only twice before nightfall to let the animals (and themselves) rest, and after nightfall they walked their mounts for another hour before Varric finally piped up, saying he was going to fall asleep standing.

Wren suggested they put up only a single tent, to save on time and the dwarf pulled out trail rations that didn’t need a fire or cooking pot. It was only with much coaxing that Wren got Solas to eat, and only the threat of knocking him out made him come into the tent to sleep. Varric offered first watch, Wren took second, leaving Solas with the morning watch to wake them up and go again. Had their mission not been so frantic, she might have squirmed with nervous desire at the thought of spending time alone in the tent with Solas, but as it was, she stayed away only long enough to ensure that he laid down before she fell into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.

When they finally made it to the Exalted Plains, they were met by chaos. The War of the Lions was going full tilt, and they had no Inquisition forces to back them up. A small outpost, far from the fighting, was their only resource, and the scouts there were surprised to see the Inquisitor herself riding in as fast as her poor Hart could manage. She waved off their questions and asked only for a new mount for herself and Solas, insisting that Varric stay in camp and write to her advisors, letting them know of their safe arrival- as well as the horrors happening in the Dales. Reinforcements were to be called for, and the soldiers were to be assisted with the undead that were ravaging both sides. Solas waited only long enough for her to bark out the orders and secure them fresh horses, before saddling up and starting down the road.

Varric watched as Wren switched her pack to the horse, his eyes worried, “Are you sure you don’t want my help?”

She shook her head, reigning in the horse with a firm hand, “No. Whatever those mages are doing, I don’t want to risk you out there as well. I’ll be safe enough with Solas, and we’ll attract less attention with just the two of us.” He nodded, saying nothing else as she turned and galloped off after her friend.

It took them an hour to navigate through the fighting and to the general area where Solas’ friend was being held. They saw signs of bandit activity and dead a dead mage, but did not slow. When they spotted other dead bodies on the path, he paused and dismounted to examine them. “These aren’t mages. Their bodies are burned… And those are claw marks! No. No, no, no!” Throwing himself back onto the horse, he spurred it forward and Wren barely kept up. She wasn’t sure exactly what had him so upset about the corpses, but if he was upset- then it was truly something to fear.

They came around a rocky outcropping and were both nearly thrown by their mounts. Solas dismounted, ignoring the horse as it turned and tried to go back. Wren just managed to grab the reigns and, after jumping from her own horse, bring both creatures to the side and tie them quickly to a half-dead tree.

She ran after Solas just as a monster came into view. This was no spirit. It was a demon.

“My friend!” Solas whispered.

Wren’s hand covered her mouth for a moment, before speaking with Solas, “The mages turned your friend into a demon…”

He ground his teeth, hand gripping his staff tightly, “Yes.”

“You said it was a spirit of Wisdom, not a fighter.”

His voice was harsh, accusing, “A spirit _becomes_ a demon when denied its original purpose.”

She shook her head, “So they summoned it for something so _opposed_ to its nature that it twisted it. The bandits?”

The creature cackled and thrashed against the magic restraining it, but before Solas could move forward, a person- no, a _mage_ stepped forward from the shadows. Solas went from unleashed anger to a hunter stalking his prey, “Let us ask them!”

The man didn’t seem to notice the anger rolling off of Solas, instead examining their staffs with excitement, “Mages! You’re not with the bandits! Do you have any lyrium potions? Most of us are exhausted fighting that demon-“

Solas cut him off with a sharp gesture, “You _summoned_ that demon! Except it was a spirit of Wisdom at the time!” The stranger had the gall to look shocked even as Solas yelled, “You made it _kill_! You twisted it against its purpose!”

The man tried to calm Solas with his hands up in supplication, “I-I understand how it might be _confusing_ to someone who has not studied demons, but after you help us I can-“

Solas stepped into the man’s face, a snarl so deeply etched that had she not been almost as angry, Wren would have been terrified, “We aren’t here to help _you._ ” The elf stalked past the man, his attention completely on his spirit friend.

Before the man could say anything further, Wren held up her hand, her own scowl cowing him, “I would not try explaining how spirits work to my friend. You just look like an idiot.”

He didn’t seem to get it though, “Listen to me! I was one of the foremost experts in the Kirkwall Circ-“

Solas whirled, his voice more of a growl than words, “SHUT. UP. You summoned it. To protect you from the bandits?”

Finally, the man looked afraid, and shamed, “I-… Yes.”

“You bound it to obedience, then commanded it to kill. _That_ is when it turned.” When the accusation was not denied, Solas turned to Wren, “The summoning circle. We break that, we break the binding. No orders to kill, no conflict with its nature, NO DEMON.”

The stranger flailed, “What?! The Binding is the only thing keeping the demon from killing us all! No matter what it was before, it is a monster now!”

Solas turned back to Wren, “Inquisitor, _please_!”

Wren shoved the mage aside, looking at the circle of power the demon was held in, “I’ve seen rituals like this. We should be able to disrupt the binding quickly.”

Solas sighed with some of the tension leaking out of him, making Wren wonder if he really thought she wasn’t going to side with him on this. “Thank you. We must hurry!”

They both darted forward, Solas letting her take the lead on how to destroy the circle. It wasn’t easy- the order to _kill_ was still pulsing through Wisdom/Pride so heavily that it tried to lash out at them even as they were trying to save it. More than once, Wren was thrown into one of the binding columns, ribs cracking or shoulder twisting. Other mages had come out of hiding and were watching them, but dared not approach or interfere. By the time the last part of the binding was broken, Wren was limping, bleeding from a dozen places, and even after draining the last of their healing potions, wasn’t sure how much longer she’d be able to stand. Solas looked just as bad, but he didn’t seem to notice.

Where Pride had stood a moment before, now a withered looking spirt sat, flickering in indistinct form. Solas approached slowly, going to his knees before it, his voice so low that Wren could barely hear him, “Lethallin. Ir abelas.”

The spirit’s voice was oddly echoing and lyrical, even with how faint it was. “Tel’abelas. Enasal. Ir tel’him.” It looked down for a moment, “Ma melava halani. Mala suledin nadas. Ma ghilana mir din’an.”

Solas did not reply right away, eyes closed and head down. Finally, his shoulders tense, he responded, “Ma nuvenin.” His hands lifted, and though Wren could not see any glow of magic, she could feel the ripple in the Fade. The spirit sighed and dissipated. “Dareth shiral…” There was so much sorrow and loss in his voice, and Wren wondered that this man, who had been so strong and calm nearly the whole time she’d known him, had such depths.

“I… I understood what it said.” She spoke softly, “It was right. You helped it.”

His eyes were on the river ahead, but he echoed the spirits words, “Now, I must endure…”

“Solas… Let me know if I can help.”

He did not move right away, but when he finally stood, there was a ghost of a smile on his lips, even through the sorrow. “You already have.” Their eyes held for a moment, and she saw the gratitude there. The quiet did not last, however, and anger broke through as he turned to the mages responsible. “All that remains now, is _them._ ” His hands began to glow as he stalked forward, and the mages began backing away, stumbling.

The first one that had approached them tried to reason with him, “W-we would not have risked the summoning, but the roads were too dangerous-“

Solas cut them off, rapidly closing in on them, “You! Tortured and killed my _friend!”_

They were backed against the rocks now, the sound of the river almost hidden under the sound of Solas’ magic building, “We didn’t _know_ it was just a spirit! The book said it could help us!”

Wren knew what was coming. Perhaps she’d always known that Solas was capable of something like this, but she did not stay his hand. She watched, an odd feeling of justice settling in her chest, as the elf raised his hand and in one swift motion, consumed them in the fire of his rage. They did not even have time to scream.

“Damn them all…” he snarled, standing over the ashen corpses. He did not turn back to her, only spoke a little louder so that she could hear, “I need some time alone. I will meet you back at Skyhold.”

Skyhold. Not the camp. Not Halamshiral. She could see his body shaking, but did not move towards him as he walked away, following the river path into the woods. She stood for a long time after, watching the bodies burn into little piles of ash. The cold nip of incoming night was what finally revived her, and her own exhausted bodies’ shaking reminded her that she needed to find safety. The horses were still where she’d tied them, and she tied the reigns of his horse to the saddle of hers, and led them back to camp.

By the time she trotted into the fire light, it was obvious that Varric was preparing search parties for her. One of the scouts shouted her approach, and he met her on the road- his eyes rapidly taking in her battered form and the empty horse beside her, “Chuckles…?” the apprehension in his voice said that he feared the worst.

She waved her hand towards where she’d come from, “Will see us at Skyhold.” She looked up from the saddle finally, eyes meeting is, “Can you- can you help me down? I… I think I’ll fall otherwise.”

He raced to her side, giving her a hand as she slid to the ground and handed the horses off to the waiting scouts. One of them traded the reins for a bottle of healing potion, and she popped the cork and downed it without a word. Varric grimaced as her body swayed, and he threw an arm around her waist to drag her back to their tent, “Come on, Herald. Let’s get you patched up so that Curly doesn’t have my hide.”

They were brought bandages and a sling for her arm and ribs, and he wrapped them tightly, muttering about how they should have brought a healer with them. She didn’t really listen though, just going through the motions. When he pressed a mug smelling strongly of Black Lotus, she didn’t even think, just downed it like she had the potions and let him lead her to her bedroll. “Get some sleep. I’ll send the letters and get us back on the road in the morning.”

The sleeping draught worked quickly, and she didn’t fight it. She welcomed the Fade, stepping into the realm of dreams with hope and a desperate desire to make sure Solas was alright. She searched, as best as she could, but all she could hear was the whispers of the demons attracted by war, and the distant howling of a wolf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet another chapter finished, and more to come! I really want to work on the companion pieces to this, but I’m not sure if I’ll post them soon or not. If I do, which would you rather have updated sooner- Cullen’s or Solas’? Let me know in the comments! As always, thank you for reading! I couldn’t have made 80,000 without you all. ^_^


	17. Nothing but Ambition

If ever there was a place devoid of the Maker’s light, Halamshiral was it. From the servants and slaves to the nobles at the high tables, it seemed that everyone was playing The Game to its most deadly outcomes. Even on the battlefield, Wren had known who was friend and who was foe, but here? Everyone was costumed and masked as friend, and every one of them held a poison dagger behind their back.

She sighed, and blinked in sleepy annoyance at the other occupants of her room. Josephine and Leliana had swept into her suit only a few moments earlier, and were already tsking and clucking at her for not being up and ready for the day. When she tried to pull the heavy comforter over her head, Josie yanked the blankets off completely and stood with a disapproving glare at the foot, “My Lady Inquisitor, we are expected to meet with the Duke today for brunch.” This would be the first time they actually met with the Duke. He had been in the field with his soldiers before they arrived, but his servants and those lesser nobles who worked under him were pleasant and accommodating- as much as anyone in Orlais could be.

She tried to burrow under the mound of pillows, only to have them tossed aside (and one thumped on her head for good measure), “But that is not for another three hours! Surely I’m allowed to sleep in.”

Leliana laughed lightly, “If this was Skyhold and you were not expected to dress in more than a few nice robes, then perhaps. But this is Orlais, and it will take us that long just to get you ready, not to mention the meeting that still needs to be had before the Duke.”

Groaning loudly, she rolled over and sat up, glaring at the two women in hopes that they would leave her be. “May I at least bathe first? All that standing about last night in those stiff dresses made me sweat something awful, and I’m afraid I might put others off their meal if I go as I am.”

Josie laughed and held up a fluffy looking robe, “Of course! The bathes have been ready and waiting for nearly a half hour now! If we don’t get there soon, the servants might let the water run cold.”

The only good thing about Halamshiral, and the Duke’s estate in particular, was the bath. It was a glorious room with high vaulted ceilings and great windows at the top to let in the light. There were baskets of different soaps and oils set along the wall, and benches to sit on and simply enjoy the steam. But the best part were the bathes themselves. It had been Vivienne who insisted, the moment they arrived, on taking Wren to the bathes. She said that her estate had a much better, more private bathing area, but Duke Gaspard’s were exceptional. The tubs were set into the ground, with pipes from water cisterns above to bring in fresh water and a boiler room below to keep them heated. They were so large and so deep that five or six people could easily bathe together and completely submerge, without ever touching. The had benches under water and just the right height, and the marble never became too hot or too cold. It had been wonderful.

Now they made it a daily ritual to bathe before getting ready, and it was the only thing that kept Wren from leveling the whole city. While in the bath they would not be disturbed, but the moment they left there would be messengers and petitioners, from both the Inquisition and the nobles of Orlais. Wren had been tempted to bar her door in the evenings, but knew that she would simply never leave her rooms if she did. Since arriving, they had all received death threats, petitions for alliance, and even a few marriage proposals (which Josie told her that they would only show her the ones that might actually be useful). There was never a moments rest.

Three days it had been like this. She was grateful that the ball would start tonight and mostly put a hold on all of this, but at the same time… Staying busy meant that she did not worry about Solas… They had not heard anything from him since he left, and she feared for him- but also for any who crossed his path. The brutal power she had witnessed when he took revenge on the mages had been- No. She would not dwell on that again. Instead, she pulled the robe on and complacently followed the other two women out the door and down the long hall. Plush carpets softened the hard marble floors, and servants stood at attention every few yards, ready to be summoned for whatever the needs of the guests might be.

Vivienne and Cassandra were already in the bath by the time they arrived, both women speaking amiably and greeting them with enthusiasm. Wren especially. Ever since she’d returned, without Solas, the women of the Inquisition had made efforts to include her in little outings or conversations, and she was grateful for it, particularly with her brother away visiting the local Circle. She feared for him more than for anyone else. Technically, he was apostate. Luckily for all of them, the Inquisition had Madame Vivienne to vouch for him and ensure that the appropriate doors opened and did not shut behind him.

Speaking of, Wren dropped her robe and stripped down, only mildly self-conscious of her scars- after all, the women here had seen them a few times already, “Vivienne? Have you heard from Dinall yet?” she slid into the water with a hiss and a moan of satisfaction. The water was nearly too hot, but her body rapidly adjusted. She really _must_ get something like this in Skyhold.

“Oh yes, just this morning in fact. Apparently our Tevinter friends have been smart enough to leave the Circle’s out of it. I suppose that is my influence among them. After all, if I am allied with the Inquisition, it would look rather bad for them to ally with _Tevinter_ of all people.”

Wren chewed her lip, “His origin isn’t causing problems, right?”

The enchanter smiled, though her eyes remained closed and her head back on a rolled towel, “I already told you, my dear Inquisitor, with my letter of recommendation, he could have been Qunari and they would have happily let him in.”

Josephine tittered at that, covering her mouth with a polite hand, “Oh! Could you imagine the look on their faces if he was?”

Cassandra smiled, almost relaxed looking, “I’m sure someone like the Iron Bull would put even _your_ recommendation to the test.”

Vivienne smiled a little wider, almost laughing, “True. He is rather… Imposing, isn’t he?”

Leliana spoke up, “I wonder if he is as imposing in other ways?”

“Leliana!” three different voices admonished, though laughingly.

Wren couldn’t pass it up though, and had to mention, “I’m sure he’d be happy to show you. He does have a thing for red heads.”

Their gossip and playful banter continued for a time, something they had not been able to do in Skyhold- at least not to this extent. Even so, they were careful not to say anything too revealing. Orlesians were known for having spy holes and echo chambers everywhere. Still, it was nice to simply relax among friends. It reminded Wren of the more pleasant days in the Circle.

Brunch with Duke Gaspard and his supporters was, surprisingly, slightly less political than she was expecting. The man was a snake, to be sure, but when he said that he despised The Game it seemed that he truly meant it. When the Inquisition entered the dining hall, the Duke was there to greet them, “It is a great pleasure to meet you, Inquisitor Trevelyan.” He took her hand and bowed over it, his lips brushing it briefly. “I have heard a great many tales about your prowess in battle in Fereldan. Imagine what the Inquisition could accomplish with the rightful Emperor of Orlais!” Well, he wasted no time with greetings. At least his intentions were clear.

She smiled prettily and tipped her head, “Ah, you’ll have to forgive me. Who is the rightful Emperor again? There are so many claims.”

Her snark seemed to catch him off guard, but he smiled under his mask, “The handsome and _charming_ one, of course, my Lady.” He chuckled, though at her quip or his own self-compliment, she wasn’t sure. “I am not a man who forgets his friends, Inquisitor. You help me, and I’ll help you.”

That was a far more forward statement than she’d been expecting. More forward than anything else anyone had said since her arrival. “The Inquisition also remembers its allies.” She stated with a bow of her head. Josephine had warned her about giving any statement that could be taken as an agreement, but she also did not want to alienate a potential ally. It was true, that should he prove useful she would try to keep the peace talks, well, peaceful. However, he was a known usurper in this case, and a potential source of the assassination of the Empress. There would be a fine line to walk today.

He offered her his arm and led her to the table, “I do apologize for not being here sooner. I have heard that you were recently in the Exalted Plains, so you know of the troubles that plague my soldiers.”

Now where had he heard that? She had tried to be careful not to reveal herself there, but then again- the Inquisition was not the only organization with a spy network, “I have already order a contingent to help stabilize the Exalted Plains. I plan on stopping through there after the ball to take care of the Rifts.”

He pulled her chair out, just to the right of his and glanced pointedly at her gloved left hand, “Ah yes. That is a rather useful ability right now, is it not?”

She held the hand up to allow him to see it. Though it was covered, the glow was still visible through the thin silk, “It has come in handy.” The corner of his lip twitched at the horrible pun, but that seemed to lighten the mood a bit.

“You have wit and an eye for the battlefield. I am glad that I will have you as my guest tonight.” Taking his own seat, he signaled for the meal to be served and as soon as the wine was poured, toasted the Inquisition, the Herald of Andreste, and the future of Orlais. The conversation was calm and when not involving tactical discussion, tended to center around Gaspard and his grand plans or noble lineage.

The meal itself was pleasant, if a little ostentatious. Each course was light and flavorful, with at least one ingredient from the previous course to tie them together. Obviously, it was a meal meant to impress the Inquisition, but when they came to desert, Wren was a little surprised and confused. While all the others at the table had a small cake with the Inquisition symbol and Gaspard’s own crest (as a show of their alliance for the evening), Wren’s was a tiny, beautifully rendered sugar sculpture of a, well, a wren, holding Gaspard’s crest in its beak and standing on a tiny cake with the Inquisition’s symbol. Thank the Creators that Josephine was seated beside her because while she understood this was symbolic of something, she had no idea what. Josie squeaked when she saw it, and hurriedly leaned forward to address the Duke, “The Inquisitor is speechless by the beauty you have presented to her, and she will consider the offer, of course!” Wren looked up at Josie, wide eyed and confused on what to do. The Ambassador picked up her own desert spoon and signaled for Wren to do the same, mouthing ‘eat it!’

Feeling bad for destroying such a beautiful creation, but of course, not wanting to insult their host, Wren carefully ate it, though she had a feeling (especially if the blanched look on Cullen’s face was anything to go by) that the act was just as meaningful as the presentation. _Damnit Josie, you had better explain this tonight…_

There was little time, however, to explain anything after the meal. Once finished, the Duke bowed low over her hand again, “I look forward to seeing you at the gates tonight. I am sure your gown for the ball will be ravishing.” The kiss he placed on her hand this time was much firmer and it made Wren shoot Josephine a sharp look. The Ambassador simply looked pleased.

They hurried off, the women bustling Wren along before she could speak with the others in her party. The dress she had worn to brunch had been easy enough- a simple gown of red and gold. Compared to the gown that Vivienne was laying out on the bed for her, though, it was a drab rag.

Wren put her hands up, shaking her head frantically, “No. No, no, no, no, no! I can’t wear that!”

Leliana laughed, carefully pulling out her own gown and Josephine’s from the trunk, “Don’t be silly. It was custom made for you. It will look beautiful.”

Josie nodded, draping her own dress across the couch before the fireplace, “Besides! Our leader must look the part, no?”

She glanced over her shoulder to plead with Cassandra, to find that the woman had a much more practical outfit, with trousers and a military style jacket! “No fair! Why does she get to wear pants?”

Vivienne sighed dramatically, “Darling, she is a soldier of the Inquisition and of the Chantry- no matter our current status with them. It is only right that she appear as such.”

Wrinkling her nose, she looked down at her dress again, dreading the ordeal it would be to get into it, “ _I’m_ a fighter…”

“No, my dear, you are a mage.”

Huffing, she began to peel off the current dress, stopping when Vivienne held out a corset for her. “And how, exactly, am I supposed to fight with _that_ on?”

Leliana waved a dismissive hand, helping Josie lace up her corset, “Oh, I doubt there would be any fighting tonight. It would be far too anticlimactic to have it all end on the first night!”

The look she gave her spymaster could only be described as withering.

*

Three hours and an excessive amount of lacing later, Wren led the procession out the front of the estate to where the carriages were waiting. Despite her protests, she felt oddly confident in the gown. It was a rich, dark red velvet with a hint of black and gold lace on the edges and covering the otherwise low cut front up to her neck. The back dipped down but her skin was also covered with the fine black lace- effectively hiding her scars while giving the illusion of a revealing cut. The bottom was cut close to her hips, with almost no underskirts or hoops, making walking much easier than she feared, and it had only a short train that would keep her from being stepped on all night (though the others had assured her that no one would make that grand faux pas). The heels, pleasantly enough, were only a couple inches. Josie had insisted on them, but said that Wren was tall enough on her own that they were to give her posture, not height.

If nothing else, the look on Cullen’s face when she walked out those doors was priceless. He gaped, actually gaped! The women behind her giggled behind their hands, and Dorian actually had to jab the Commander in the ribs to get him to move. He recovered quickly though, hurrying up the stairs to offer her his escort to the carriage. Blushing deeply, he smiled at her in wonder, “You look... I mean... That dress…” She couldn’t stifle the soft laugh that escaped her, and he just gave her that lopsided grin, “You look beautiful, my Lady.”

She gave him a soft curtsey, as she had been instructed in, and took his arm, “You look very handsome, Commander.” Leaning towards him conspiratorially, she whispered, “I’ll trade you.”

His laughter gave her the buoy she needed, “While I am sure you would look intimidating in my dress uniform, I am afraid that your ball gown might be a little tight around my chest.”

Giving him a once over, she grinned, feeling bold as he brought her to her carriage, “I don’t know, Commander. Is your chest that much larger than mine?”

It had the desired effect of making him look down at her lace covered front, and she saw him forcibly swallow. “Wha-I uh, my lady!” His stumbling ended in a nervous admonishment, but she only laughed and brushed her lips against his blushing cheek.

“Stand down, Commander. We can compare shirt sizes another time.” With a final smirk, she carefully climbed inside and sat down. Much to her disappointment, there was no one else in the carriage. She assumed that this was to keep with the impression of the ‘powerful Inquisitor standing against the dark tide’ that Josie had been prattling on about yesterday, but it still hurt a little. It would be the first time, besides sleeping, that she had been alone since…

As the carriage jolted to a start, she could not help but pull the curtain aside and look out upon the world as they passed. Where was Solas? Did he really intend to go to Skyhold, instead of meeting her here? With the need to go from Orlais straight to the Western Approach to confront what Wardens Stroud has found, that could mean that she would not see him for months… Did he blame her for the death of his friend? Could she have gotten there sooner? Perhaps, if she had not made them sleep, but had simply walked the mounts… No, they would have had to stop eventually, and might not have had the energy to break the binding when they arrived. Surely he understood that? What could he blame her for? Was this spirit, as Blackwall had once playfully suggested, more than just a friend? Was that perhaps why he hadn’t brought up their… interest, in each other? There were so many questions and she wanted nothing more than to be able to ask them all, but… He wasn’t here.

“He mourns for the loss of not only a friend, but of an equal.” A voice suddenly brought her out of her repetitive thoughts, and she was only mildly surprised to find Cole perched on the bench across from her. He was dressed in a similar uniform to the other soldiers, in hopes that between that and his ability to help people forget him, he would go mostly unnoticed.

She smiled sadly, “I had hoped you might join me.”

He didn’t respond to that, looking down at the floor of the carriage and continuing, “There are so many things that others do not understand. So many that hate spirits and treat them like tools. Like Vivienne. Or…” He quirked his head to the side, as if listening. “Ah. But he should know that he is not the only one who cares. Who sees.”

Sighing, Wren rested her elbows on her knees and shook her head, “He _should_ know, but knowing and feeling are very different things, Cole.”

“Why?”

Such a simple question, but such a complicated answer, “Because we are not spirits. Our nature is not so straightforward as your own.”

“You are not that different. You strive for a goal. You weigh what you do to ensure that it happens.”

“Yes, but I make mistakes.”

He paused, turning to look out the window, “I… made mistakes. Once.”

She wanted to reach out and give him a hug, but he was always strange about that, and a carriage was an awkward place for hugs, “I know Cole. But you learned. You changed.”

Those bright eyes turned their focus on her, and a small smile graced his sylphlike features, “And you remember. So I can remember.”

Shaking her head, she reached out to pat his knee, “You don’t need me to help you there. Your compassion would keep you from making those mistakes again.”

Eyes dropping again, he whispered, “That is what he fears. Making mistakes again. This world was not real to him. Not until you.”

Confused now, Wren tried to follow his thoughts, “I… Solas?”

Before he could answer, the carriage rolled to a stop and he sat up straight suddenly, eyes wide, “We are here. It is… They are very loud.”

With an unladylike snort, she carefully stood and shuffled to the door when it opened. She knew Cole was behind her, but by the way that the servant helped her out of the carriage, she also knew that no one else could likely see him. He brushed past her before the door closed, and leaned over to whisper, “I will be your shadow, since they cannot. They all worry. They won’t need to tonight.”

_Thank you, Cole._

Cullen did not escort her this time. Instead, she walked behind a procession of soldiers to the gates of the Winter Palace, where Duke Gaspard waited for her. The military style entrance garnered interest from the gathering nobles, and the Duke seemed pleased about it. He gave her a wide smile from behind his golden mask, and bowed low before her. “My Lady, are you prepared to _shock_ the Court by walking into the Grand Ball with a _hateful_ usurper? They will be telling stories of this into the next age!”

Wren put on her best courtier smile and returned his bow, “Then let us ensure they have plenty gossip about.”

He offered his arm, still smiling smugly, “You are a woman after my own heart, my Lady.” She suspected that there was more implied by that statement than she was privy to, and told herself to speak with Josie as soon as she had a moment.

The Winter Palace was a truly magnificent place. The grand arches and high ceilings, the beautiful carvings and artwork, and the magnificent statues. It was hard to remember, through all this finery, that there were killers in their midst- not to mention the assassins against the Empress. She spent the first night bowing and smiling and doing her best to play The Game. This first night was about being seen and engaging the nobles who might be swayed to their cause. While she played her part, her companions played theirs. Vivienne and Dorian were as much in their element as Josephine and Leliana. Cullen and Cassandra were stiff and formal, doing their best to watch for anything significant and get a military perspective. Sera was busy in the kitchens, though a rumor began about some of the good or drinks making certain nobles sick, and Cole, true to his word, was carefully following Wren- her faithful shadow. From time to time he would lean towards her and offer a bit of information, or disappear entirely on some errand of his own- always appearing shortly after. She took comfort in his presence, among all these masked nobles. The night was long, but knowing that all of her friends (or at least, most of them) were nearby, helped keep her steady.

A routine set in for the next two days. Get up, bathe and gossip, have a meeting with her inner council about what they found, brunch with Gaspard, and then the ball. She did finally manage to get Josephine to explain the sugary dessert from their first day, as well as the Duke’s strange hints and behavior. Apparently, it had been an ‘offer of interest.’

“You mean a marriage proposal?” Wren asked, her voice heavy with disgust.

The ambassador lifted a hand, her formal uniform for the last evening already on, “Nothing so formal as that, Inquisitor. It showed that there is, as stated, interest in a possible engagement in the future.”

Slipping a dagger into her tall boots, Wren wrinkled her nose, “Ugh. Yet another way to buy my assistance, I assume?”

Josie nodded, “Just so. Though truthfully, it is not something to be so lightly put aside. Should you decide that the Duke should truly rule Orlais, it would make him more than just a powerful ally, it would bind him _and_ his army to the Inquisition- and offer you a place when our duties are complete.”

The buttons on Wren’s jacket were bulky and overly ornate, but she was grateful that it was not another corset. They had decided that on this last night, with all the evidence in hand and the confrontation imminent, the Inquisitor needed to look the part of a soldier. Plus, it would make the last bit of digging around and clambering about the grounds much easier than if she was still in a dress. “While I’m sure it would be the politically correct thing to accept, I refuse to tie myself to someone for merely a gain in power.”

Leliana laughed softly from where she was tying her own boots, “Not to mention, _other_ considerations.”

Wren stuck her tongue out at her spymaster, a deep blush coloring her cheeks. Among the other gossip, the women of the Inquisitions inner circle and companions had teased Wren relentlessly about Cullen’s infatuation with her. The subject of Solas had been carefully avoided after the first time- when the mention of their _relationship_ had come up and left Wren in a spiral of questions and worries. So, they stuck with the Commander and even ribbed him a bit, if only to watch him get flustered and stammer his way through any excuse to change the subject.

Honestly, once it had been made clear that she wasn’t simply stopping an assassination, but deciding the fate of Orlais’ future ruler, Wren was happy for any chance to think about something else. The evidence she had found over the last two days was enough to make her half wish that Corypheus really would just wipe the whole damn palace off the map! These people would sell their own grandmother’s secrets if it meant even the smallest climb up the political ladder. How any of them managed to sleep at night was beyond her. Damn them all to the void!

*

No amount of wine or mead would do after tonight. Wren leaned on the banister of the balcony, watching the people far below, in the secluded courtyard, carry out their secret affairs. True, she had managed to not only save the Empress, but convince Briala and Gaspard to play nice. Still, it had been a trying night and if she never returned to this Maker-damned place it would be too soon. There was the start of a headache just behind her eyes and her bruised shoulders and battered spirit were begging for the night to simply be done. Well, at least they had a new ally to bring back to Skyhold, and more than a few nobles clamoring to offer their aide to the Inquisition (and more than a few offering their hand to the Inquisitor herself, much to her disgust).

The scuff of boots on marble and a polite cough made her turn her head, expecting one of said nobles to be coming to bother her, even in her little retreat. Instead, Cullen approached, offering her a sympathetic smile. “There you are! Everyone’s been looking for you.” He joined her at the rail, leaning against it as well, “It seems things have finally calmed down, for the moment. Are you alright?”

The concern in his voice was touching, and she returned his smile with a grateful one, “It has been a long night. I am looking forward to leaving this all behind us in the morning. The battlefield, while horrifying, is preferable to this mess. At least there I know who my enemies are.”

“We have all had a long few nights. I, too, am glad it’s over and we can go back to more… familiar enemies.” He placed a hand on her shoulder, offering comfort as well as he could, “I know it’s foolish, but I was worried for you tonight.” She placed her own hand over his for a moment, before returning it to the banister.

Polite (if slightly drunken) cheering came from inside as the musicians finished their song and started the next. Cullen stepped back as he spoke, “I may _never_ have another chance like this so, I must ask.” With a formal bow and an offered hand, he smiled at her so charmingly that she almost didn’t hear what he asked, “May I have this dance, my Lady?”

For a moment, another image overlaid the one before her, and feral eyes sparkled from Fade-fire. But the image was gone, and her heart couldn’t decide if it wanted to turn to lead or flutter straight out of her throat. He was right. When would they have a chance like this again? Smiling, she turned and placed her hand in his, “Of course, though I thought you said you didn’t dance.”

He chuckled at the tease from earlier, “For you, I’ll try.”

Pulling her close to him, she realized that this was one of the few times that they had been close and he didn’t have his armor on. As he pulled her closer to him, she was acutely aware of the strong arm wrapped around her waist, and the hard muscle of his stomach and chest. He was so warm that she only then realized that she had been cold a moment before. The smell of him, wood smoke, vellum, and clove, was so much stronger when she was pressed close like this, and she wondered for a moment what it was that made him smell like that. That soft, slightly lopsided smile, stayed on his lips as he watched her and took them in gentle turns around the balcony.

Despite his early protestation, he was actually a good dancer, and she laughed softly, “Where _did_ you learn to dance, Commander?”

The smile turned to a boyish grin, “While I may not have your same noble background, the Templars still go to formal events from time to time. Actually, most of what I learned was part of my training.”

“Oh? I have a hard time seeing that.”

He laughed, a low rumbling sound that came from his chest and thrummed against her skin, “It’s true! One of our sword masters told us that fighting is much like dancing. You have to be aware of your feet, your opponent, and the rhythm of the battle at hand. He insisted we each learn to dance before he’d even see a sword put in our hands.”

That image made her laugh- a young, teenage Cullen, awkwardly dancing with other young Templars, all in the name of swordplay. “Remind me to send your instructor a thank you letter. You haven’t stepped on my toes once!”

Chuckling again, he pulled her a little tighter to him, “I will make sure Leliana has a raven ready.”

The music slowed, indicating an impending change in song, but Cullen didn’t seem interested in releasing her and to be honest, she was grateful for it. Once again, the air between them changed and the music from inside faded compared to the music they were dancing to. Her mind drifted back to the impulsive kiss in his office, and her heart rate jumped up a notch. There was a blush blooming across his cheeks, and she wondered if he was remembering the same thing. When he licked his lips, she was positive he was.

Their steps slowed and the arm around her waist tightened, pulling her closer to him. “You look amazing, tonight, my Lady.” He murmured huskily, his eyes trained on her lips.

A soft huff of laughter passed those lips, “I’m in a soldier’s uniform, Cullen.”

“It’s fitting.”

Unable to help but give a little playful banter, she squeezed his hand and gave him a cheeky smile, “I thought you liked my gown from the first night?”

Eyes dark and lidded, he breathed a sigh that was nearly a moan, “Maker’s breath that dress…I… could barely look at anyone else.”

Her cheeks were hot and she was sure that she would melt at any moment. Voice nearly as quiet as his, she had to ask, “And tonight?”

A possessive growl sent a shiver straight to her curling toes, and he pulled her flush against him, his arousal very obvious- pinned as it was between their hips, “I saw no one else at all.”

Something primal surged up and she had just decided to throw discretion to the wind- sod these nobles and their gossip, she would do what she wanted!- when an amused cough interrupted the heated moment between them. Startling back from each other, they both turned to the doorway where Dorian was casually leaning and Cole was peeking around his shoulder, “Oh, don’t let _us_ interrupt you!”

Laughing, she stuck her tongue out at him and held her hand out for Cole. The boy darted forward and took it, bowing low like he had been told to and smiling, “I promised you both a dance, didn’t I? And I’m afraid the Commander has been occupying my dancing tonight.”

Dorian smirked and stepped onto the balcony, “My dear, he was occupying more than your _dance._ ” He threw a salacious wink at the blushing Commander and laughed when Cullen blanched. “Well, since you two seem to be _finished_ , I did want a turn with you around the floor and Cole here has been positively _antsy_ to dance with someone other than stuffy nobles.”

Cole grinned sheepishly, “I did not want to interrupt. I _did_ want to dance. Everyone was so happy when you danced with the _her_.” She wrinkled her nose and his smile softened at her unspoken thoughts, “Most. The _others_ were happy you were dancing with her. The ones that matter were happy to watch _you_ dance.”

Tucking her arm in his elbow, she turned them towards the ballroom, “Then we will just have to do it again, but maybe we can skip out on the assassins this time?” Her eyes went to Cullen, and he returned her smile and seemed to relax. Decorum be damned, she would dance with her friends tonight- Cullen included.

Cole grew serious, his voice dropping lower and his shoulders slumping, “I promised him I would protect you.”

Wren paused, confused, “…Cole?”

He tipped his head for a moment, before shaking it, “I did not do as I promised. I did not protect you.”

“Cole, no.” She turned and put her hands on his shoulders, “I knew it was a trap that she led us into. You were by my side and you helped. You _did_ protect me.”

When he looked up, his eyes were wide and cautious. She smiled at him and tugged him forward into a brief hug, before pulling him with her inside, Dorian and Cullen following, “Come on. The danger is passed, let’s enjoy the last few songs.” Her words seemed to reassure him, or perhaps it was her earnest belief that he _had_ been helpful. Either way, he followed willingly enough and even darted off for a moment to grab the rest of the group, pulling Josephine to the floor while she laughed and playfully admonished him for his antics.

Formal dancing had never been a pleasure to her, but much as the night in Josie’s study, this was no longer about playing politics as the Inquisitor, but instead, enjoying time with her friends and companions. Each of her companions took a turn with her on the floor, though some, like Cassandra, had to be convinced. Dorian made her look amazing as he spun her in circles, Josie made her feel like a little girl, playing pretend with her best friend, Cole was so happy and childlike that she couldn’t help but laugh during their whole dance, and Cullen, after she made fun of him for being so stiff and formal _now_ after their dance earlier, finally relaxed enough to smile and make her feel cared for and protected. Even some of their more bold soldiers asked for a turn, and by the end of the night, when the last song played, Wren was no longer thinking about Corypheus or assassins or the ruler of Orlais. She was thinking about home- Skyhold- and her friends who were rapidly becoming family.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really struggled with this chapter and deciding how much of Halamshiral I was going to include. Hopefully it’s not too awful. :/
> 
> Also- Super long chapter! Yay! Don’t forget to R&R! I love knowing that other people enjoy my work and it helps me be inspired to continue writing.


	18. To Ash and Bone

Wren rubbed the back of her hand on her pant leg, wrinkling her nose in disgust. Beside her, Varric laughed from his ridiculous saddle, “Come on now, it can’t be _that_ bad?” He had rejoined the group just as they left Halamshiral, bringing news that the Chargers had cleared enough of the trail to the Western Approach that she should be able to follow them in a day’s time. He was to help lead her to them, and Wren suspected that with Solas gone, he wanted to offer her a shoulder and protection.

With a hiss, more reminiscent of a dragon than the Inquisitor, she placed her hands on the reins again, “I feel like I will never get the _slime_ off of it!” Her companion just laughed, the relaxed and familiar sound alleviating some of her annoyance.

Cullen’s giant war horse pulled up alongside her, the commander very carefully not looking directly at her and his voice oddly formal, “It was a good offer, Inquisitor. While the Duke might not be Emperor, he gained immense power and standing thanks to you. Any future heirs would have arguably more right to the throne than the Empress.”

Varric snorted from her right, “I think that has more to do with the Empress not being interested in someone who can knock her up.”

Ignoring the comment, Wren shook her head, “I will never forgive Josie for not nipping the whole thing in the bud at the beginning!”

Now Cullen glanced at her, his face a passively curious mask, “You did not turn him down.”

She whirled on him, as best as she could from in the saddle, “Of course not! It was made _very_ clear to me that I was to give no negative impressions in this entire Maker-damned excursion.”

“Curly’s right though. It isn’t an offer that should be tossed out so casually. There’s real power there.”

Wren laughed loudly, if a little edged with panic, “Varric, you _know_ that has no sway over me.”

“Ah, come on. Not even a little? You could spend your life in perfect luxury! Waited on hand and foot, no need to worry or go anywhere!”

Cullen sighed and nodded in reluctant agreement, “Not to mention, you’d never have to be in a Circle again…”

That sent ice down Wren’s spine, and she stiffened in her saddle. Teeth clenched, she stared forward and tried to stay calm, “I do not need a marriage to a pompous _ass_ to keep me out of the Circle. Templars will have to drag my dead corpse back, before I _ever_ enter that again.” Wanting no further discussion on the matter, and starting to feel more than a little sick, she spurred her Hart forward to the front of the procession.

Part of her was disgusted that the marriage proposal was even being discussed, when she had hoped that her companions, out of anyone, would know what her opinion on that would be. Another part was terrified by what the Commander had suggested. He left an implication that not only would the Circles be reinstituted, but that after all was said and done and she’d saved the whole bloody world, she would have to go back to the Circle herself. _Never!_ She hissed to herself, her body shaking, _I will_ die _before I let them take me, or any other mage!_

She didn’t slow until she had passed the supply wagons and caught up to where Dorian and Dinall were currently riding, speaking in soft tones. The paused as she approached, and she might have wondered at the blush on Dorian’s cheeks but for her own emotionally tumultuous state. Right now, she just wanted to be near her brother.

“Sidas, are you alright?” She shook her head, biting her lip to keep from making any of the pathetic noises that currently struggled in her throat. “Do you need to talk?” Again, a head shake. “Do you need to hunt.” A nod. The mage sighed and nodded himself, “Well, come on then. There was a rift reported this morning, not far from where the Inquisition will camp tonight. We will need at least two more to deal with the demons while you get it closed.” He looked to Dorian, who had been watching the exchange silently. With a nod, he confirmed that he’d join them. Dinall waved a hand forward, “Sera and Vivienne are just a little further. I’ll get them and let Cassandra know we are going to the rift. We’ll meet everyone at camp after.”

Once Dinall left, Dorian pulled his own silvery creature up to her, “Was it our glorious foot-in-mouth Commander again?” She sighed and gave a non-committal shrug. With a ‘hmph’ of disapproval, he sent a pointed glare over his shoulder- not that the Commander could see it from here. “I really must have a little _chat_ with him about how he speaks to you. I swear, you too fight more than Dinall and I!”

That made her chuckle a little, though she struggled to keep her voice from cracking, “Though we aren’t nearly as handsome a couple as you two.”

His glare swung over to her, though the edge of his lip twitched up a little, “I don’t know. You both looked very _handsome_ on the balcony. Tell me, is he as steamy between the sheets as during arguments?”

“Dorian!”

He laughed, obviously pleased with himself, “Oh come now! I know you and the elf haven’t done anything, despite the googly eyes you two give each other, but Commander Cullen is a man with _needs_ , not some apostate hobo. Surely you two have shared more heated things than an argument?” When a deep blush was her only answer, Dorian practically cooed, “Oh-ho! Come now, do tell me all the _lurid_ details. You can’t leave me hanging like this!”

Narrowing her eyes at him, she huffed out “It was only a kiss.”

“A kiss? When was this?”

Wren squirmed uncomfortably in her saddle and looked at her fidgeting hands, “Back in Skyhold. In- in his office.”

Dorian leaned towards her, an expectant grin plastered on his face, “And how did it happen?”

With an elaborate sigh, she looked skyward, as if asking Andreste for help, “We were arguing.”

“Ha! I knew it! I swear, the more you two fight, the hotter things get! Maybe I should let you go close this little rift. I nice long _argument_ between you two might help relieve a little of the tension!”

A long eye roll was the first part of her response, but when he continued to just grin expectantly at her, she snapped, “We don’t fight _all_ the time! We just have different opinions on… a lot of things.”

He leaned back again, looking smug, “Mm, that you do. At least your opinions on each other are the same.”

Before any further retort could be made, Dinall returned with Vivienne, but no Sera. When Wren raised an eyebrow at it, he just shrugged, “She said something about not wanting to deal with demons after spending more than a week dealing with nobles.”

Vivienne sighed, looking put upon, “It was rather less polite than that, my dear. Why you keep that goblin child with you is quite beyond my understanding.”

If it hadn’t been for the bonding experience in Halamshiral, Wren might have barked at Vivienne for the comment. Today, however, she chose to simply shake her head and signal to Dinall to lead the way. She wasn’t comfortable taking him with her to deal with a rift, but it would be nice to have an extra pair of hands to back them up, particularly hands that were so well-versed with healing magics.

The Rift had obviously been lingering for a while, with the number of demons moving about. The work was brutal and tiring, but oddly satisfying. As she had said to Cullen, the battlefield had clearly marked lines; in this case, the line was easy- human versus demon. Dinall stayed back to provide barriers and on the spot healing, Dorian and Vivienne provided the slowing and funneling magics to keep the demons from getting too close, and Wren blasted them with everything she had- imagining each with the masked face of one of the wretched nobles. As soon as they were cleared out, she snapped the rift closed with little thought. They were tired, bruised, and a bit mana-drained, but with no serious injuries Wren thought it a job well done. Normally she wouldn’t take four mages on a trip like this, but they seemed to work well together. Perhaps she would have to use them for demon hunting more often…

As they made their way to the Inquisition camp, the discussion turned to the nature of the rifts and the types of demons it brought through. Vivienne had been cataloging the encounters and she and Dorian got into a lively discussion about the lack of certain demons- like Desire and Avarice- at rifts. Wren participated with some enthusiasm at first, suggesting that it had to do with the general emotional climate of Thedas right now, but as the discussion progressed Wren found her mood dropping. These were conversations and theories that she and Solas frequently had, and she couldn’t help but think that this might be a chance for him to have a _pleasant_ discussion with Vivienne and Dorian, instead of the usual heated banter. What insight would he have on their ideas? What perspective could he give them in this discussion? Did he already have a more solid theory on why only certain demons were drawn- something more researched since their last conversation?

The whole train of thought quickly spiraled down to fear for his safety. Yes, he had been an apostate living on his own before all of this, but that was also before the Red Templars, Venatori, and rifts. They hadn’t heard from him at all, though Cole had reassured here on numerous occasions that the mage still lived. But being alive and being safe were two different things, weren’t they? She knew the difference well, and should she ever forget, the scars on her body would be a ready reminder.

Camp was just starting to be set up by the forward scouts when the party of mages arrived. Wren let one of them take her Hart to the picket line to be brushed and fed, then followed the rest to the campfire where the first round of dinner was being cooked. If she waited, there would be better fair from the supply wagon, but she wasn’t hungry and only ate because she knew that Dinall would admonish her if she didn’t. The rice and beans were barely more than ash, and fear and guilt and worry were rapidly becoming the only thing she was aware of. How much longer would Solas be gone? Would he even return? While her heart had rapidly become ensnared by him, more than anything she missed her _friend_ , the first person of the Inquisition to feel like kin. Dinall was a comfort, but she had relied on him so often since their reunion that she did not want to bother him again, especially not with how much time he and Dorian had spent together. Much as Dorian poked fun of Wren and Cullen’s heated encounters, he and Dinall had a similar fire burning between them. Her own theory was that Dorian, not really out to the rest of the Inquisition, was using anger to hide his fear of the emotions that he was developing for the only other Tevinter they had. Dinall, having never once hidden his preference in partner, was hurt and angry at what he perceived to be Dorian teasing him and leading him on. That line of though, of course, led her back to her previous subject. Solas was, more than anything, her friend. It was obvious that he enjoyed flirting with her, and the kiss they had shared in the Fade still made her toes curl to think of it. But was he actually interested? Perhaps she had become too bold with him, and it contributed to the reason he was staying away- a hope that she would cool in her reaction towards him? Was that selfish to think? Probably. Wisdom had been his friend for a long time, and surely, he was still mourning. Perhaps his absence had nothing to do with her at all. That… was almost worse. That he would not think of her, wonder about her, worry as she worried…

The rest of the Inquisition was filing into camp now, and more tents were being set and supplies unpacked. They were efficient, for such a large group, but not nearly as efficient as she was used to with her companions. It was strange to see a camp with so many people, and this one was to be a large outpost on the way to the Western Approach. Wren would travel with the Inquisition soldiers for a day longer, before continuing on to the desert, while _they_ dealt with the problems in the Exalted Plains. She hated having to leave them to the dirty work, but hoped that with the Empress and the Duke at peace, it would be easier to deal with all the problems there. A tiny voice in her head pointed out that she didn’t want to go back to that place for _other_ reasons, but she brushed it aside. Tracking down the Wardens and stopping whatever nonsense they were getting up to was more important right now.

Forcefully shoving aside her moping and replacing it with the need to be constructive, Wren stood and wandered through the camp, looking for the man she had ridden away from earlier that day. The Commander stood in a small group of scouts, giving orders on guard rotation for the night, as well as marching orders for in the morning. When he caught her eye, he gave a jerk of his head to the left, where his tent had just been set up. Knowing he’d meet her when he was finished, she slipped around the group and pushed the flap aside. His travel desk and a pair of chairs were set up inside, taking up most of the space. Already there were a few stacks of papers on the desk, waiting for him to read or sign or approve. The small cot was barely noticeable in the back corner, tucked away as an afterthought instead of the primary purpose. Did the man ever sleep?

Settling into one of the chairs, a report on the table caught her eye. It was from some of the soldiers in Crestwood, reporting on the rebuilding efforts. She hadn’t spent nearly as much time there as she could have, but it was good to know that the new mayor was making every effort to repair the mistakes of her predecessor. Feeling a mild guilt, Wren tried to make a mental note to have Leliana get information on the places she had visited. Most of the people she had helped before the fall of Haven hadn’t been a part of her thoughts at all. In fact, nearly all the events before Haven had become somewhat blurred. She hadn’t sent out people to specifically locate the rest of her Circle, but she had requested they keep an ear open for any news. Most of the remaining Circle mages that had fled to the winds had been either brought into the Inquisitions forces, or settled down in small towns to help with the relief effort. Those that chose to remain violent apostates had been… dealt with. It was the only time she agreed with Cullen’s desire to use the Templars that had joined them.

She didn’t hear the tent flap open, but she did manage to keep from startling as the Commander came to sit across from her at the desk. He looked weary and by the way he rubbed his neck, she suspected he had a headache. Who could blame him? After escorting the troops to the Plains and ensuring that the fighting forces there understood the peace treaty that had been reached, he would return to Skyhold- but not for any rest. There were supplies to be sent out, and troops to relieve in the Hinterlands, and reports to be sent and filed. It was a wonder that it took this long for his non-stop work to catch up to him.

Rolling his shoulders and removing his heavy cloak, he tried finally looked up at her with an apologetic air, “I wanted to apologize for my earlier comment, Inquisitor. I did not mean- that is, I had no intention of implying-“

She cut him off with a tired wave of her hand, “Cullen, it’s alright. I… should not have let my annoyance with the Duke ruffle me so.”

He searched her face for something, and seemingly unable to find it, asked cautiously, “Are you truly going to turn down his proposition?”

Rolling her eyes, she leaned back against the short chair, “Do I really need to answer that question?”

Chuckling a little, he offered a rueful smile, “No, I suppose not.” There was a moment of silence between them, neither quite sure what to say now. Clearing his throat, he shuffled some papers on his desk and glanced up again, “Was that something that you needed, Inquisitor?”

She sniffed in mock indignation, “Am I not allowed a social visit?”

Startled, he fumbled over his words, “Oh! No- I just- I’m not used to-“

“Relax _Commander_. While I enjoy spending time with you, I am actually here on Inquisition business. I wanted an update on the fighting in the Plains. I just need to know if I’ll have to stop there after this business in the Western Approach.”

Relaxing, now that the topic had turned to duty, he pulled a few papers out from the stack and handed them to her, “We have the forces to deal with soldiers and rebels, but there are reports of more rifts in the area, as well as some… unusual reports about undead.”

Her eyes scanned the sheet, flipping to the next quickly and picking out the key information. Damn. She had hoped that she could go back to Skyhold for a time at least, but now… “I hate to ask this, but could you stay in the Plains with the soldiers until I can get there? I know you have competent captains, but these reports make me nervous, and I’d rather have a pair of boots on the ground that I can trust to keep everyone calm.”

He inclined his head, “Of course, Inquisitor. Would you like to take any extra men with you to the Approach?”

Shaking her head, she sighed and handed him the papers, “No. I move faster with my personal fighters, and I really want to get in and out before the Wardens really notice. Besides, I’ll have Bull and the Chargers with me if things get rough.”

The dour look that crossed his face was unbecoming, but she was getting used to it, “I really would rather have more than a pack of mercenaries guarding you, my Lady.”

Laughing, she stood and stretched, “Cullen, I trust Bull and his men more than I trust a group of unknown soldiers.” He opened his mouth to protest, but she waved him off again, “No, I know that you trust your men, Commander, but I haven’t worked with them and they haven’t worked with me. The Chargers treat me like one of their own, and they listen when I give a command. No groveling. no rushing to protect me instead of listen to my orders. Just fighting the enemy.”

It seemed that he couldn’t object to that, so he simply sighed with a rather put upon look on his face, “I understand.” His lip pulled up into a ghost of a smile, “I suppose I’ll just have to ensure that the Plains are cleared out before you get there.” He stood, coming around the desk to give her a more serious look, “Do be careful, my lady. We don’t know exactly what the Wardens are up to, but even without any corruption or influence from Corypheus, they are powerful soldiers.”

Touched by his concern, she nodded slowly, “I will be cautious, you have my word.” Not daring to think about the look he was giving her, she gave him a small dip of her head and left the tent rather hurriedly.

Before she had gone far, Leliana stepped out from the shadow of a tent and gave her a sly smile, “I do hope you were able to assuage some of the Commander’s fears.”

Quirking a brow, Wren knew she shouldn’t be surprised, “I doubt it, but at least I made an attempt.”

“Good. He sleeps better when he knows you are safe.” That comment _was_ surprising, and she wasn’t sure how to respond. Not really giving her a chance, the spymaster continued, “I too have something to help, though if Cullen knew, he might be more worried. Your new mount will be here in the morning.”

Wren had nearly forgotten about that! There was a tinge of excitement to her now, and she nodded, “Just make sure my Hart gets back to Skyhold in one piece. A new mount is all well and good, but I’d like to keep a reliable one around too.”

Something in her words made the ex-bard giggle softly behind a covered hand, “As you say, Inquisitor.” She turned to continue on her way, leaving a confused mage in her wake.

*

When Wren went the next morning to retrieve her mysterious new mount, it didn’t take her long to see why Leliana seemed so pleased, and why Cullen would have _kittens_ if he saw it. The creature was staked a few yards away from the nervous horses, two armored men standing nearby in livery she did not recognize. It was tall, easily a head higher than their plow horses, and its scales glistened in the morning sun. Her feet carried her towards it even as her face stayed slack-jawed in awe.

Recognizing her as the Inquisitor, one of the men came to attention and smiled, “Inquisitor Trevelyan! We hope that the dracolisk is to your liking.”

All she could do was grin like a child and start asking a hundred questions about the amazing creature. While her companions packed for the road and gathered their own mounts, she was busying getting acquainted with the beast and finding out everything should could on its care. Harts were beautiful animals, but this! Oh, Bull would shit when he saw her riding in on it!

Wren set out with Varric, Cassandra, and Cole, on the long road to the Western approach, in a better mood than she had anticipated. She opted to go ahead of the Inquisition forces and make better time, her short dreams from the night before too restless to wait on the unknown. Those of her companions that remained would be returning to Skyhold to help with whatever tasks had come up in her absence, at least until she could remedy them herself. It was a long journey, and through it all she struggled with her restless mind. Varric’s wit kept her on her toes, Cole’s soft reassurance kept her from lingering too long on unworthy thoughts, and Cassandra’s steady friendship gave her a shoulder for those nights that were too lonely to handle.

The Chargers had done their job well and the Inquisition party moved through the empty land with little resistance. Even the rifts seemed less numerous out here, perhaps because of the distance from the Breach. Whatever the reason, they made good time to the Western Approach. The Chargers met them at the first outpost, and just as she thought, Iron Bull spent nearly the entire night waxing on about the Dracolisk, wondering if they could be bred to be larger, and marveling at the creature’s power and teeth. “It almost makes you wonder what it would be like to ride a _dragon_!” He’d said at one point, much to the amusement of the Chargers and the Inquisitor, and the horror of Varric and Cassandra.

Warden Stroud and Hawke joined them later that evening, with the grave news of what they had so far discovered of the Wardens. It was not good news, and put an immediate damper on their festivities.

Wren sighed as they finished their reports, her fists clenched around her staff, “Very well. In the morning, we’ll go see for ourselves what is happening.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in two days? Oh yes! I'm only 10,000 words from my Nanowrimo goal!  
> Transition chapter, banter, etc. I'll skip the actual bit with the Wardens here (because it's covered in game well), and then it's on to Adamant, the Plains, and *gasp* maybe the return of our favorite Egg (not in any given order, of course).


	19. And Ask Forgiveness

Livius Erimond was a name that fell like a curse from her lips every time they discussed the happenings in the Approach. Damn him, damn Corypheus, and damn the Wardens for being so weak! She had raged at the Wardens they were too late to save, and had been nearly rabid when they realized that Erimond had escaped their grasp during the fight. Losing him to the desert storm only enraged her further, and the inability to follow until the Inquisition could set up a reliable outpost left her literally burning.

She paced in the sand, the moon high overhead and the fires of her anger rippling along her skin, “Of all the stupid, ignorant- _this_ is how he gets his demon-damned army? The Wardens? The _Grey-fucking-Wardens?_ ” Varric had taken her staff away when she brought down part of the tower earlier, but she didn’t need her staff for this kind of magic. Only a will and power were needed, and she barely even felt the sand heat beneath her bare feet. “Short sighted, weak minded-“ she spluttered to a stop, unable to think of any words in any language to express herself- at least, not ones she hadn’t already used. Cassandra had made her go away from camp (likely for fear of her setting the tents alight), and Bull and Hawke were crouched close-by to ensure that nothing attacked her. Honestly, in her mood it was far more likely that she’d attack someone else, not the other way around. An ambush would be almost welcome right now! Something to focus her rage on. That she could leap onto and tear apart with her bare hands. A crunching sound under her feet made her pause, only then noticing that her heat was literal- and the sand was melting into a thin layer of glass beneath her. “Fendhis!” she cursed, before moving a little away and continuing to pace- her flames only marginally more controlled.

Hawke whistled from where he perched, addressing Bull, “Is she usually like this?”

“Nah, she is usually pretty calm.” He lifted a hand to catch her eye, not even flinching from the scowl she held, “My offer still stands, Boss! I’d be more than happy to help work off a little of that steam. As long as you leave your magic out of it.”

Snorting, she felt her lip twitch a moment as if to smile. Her feet returned to the movement, but slowed down, more thoughtful than angry. Stroud suspected the rest of the Wardens were at Adamant. It was a fortress, as true to the name as Skyhold, and had weathered many wars and invasions. They would need the Inquisition’s full strength to take it down, but they needed scouts to deal with it first. She wanted to go there _now_ \- face the problem before it got worse. The risk of failure was the only reason she wasn’t storming the damn castle herself. If the Wardens weren’t stopped, if she died, Corypheus would win and his army of demons would sweep across the world, unopposed. Sure, Gaspard and Celene’s forces might make a small stand, but they had been fighting each other for so long that they would not be much of a challenge at all. Even Fereldan, still recovering from the Blight, did not have a standing army of any sizeable defense. No, they would have to return to Skyhold, call in every military favor they had, and prepare a siege. Creators… This could take months before they could do anything!

No… Not true! She hurried back to the camp, “Cassandra! Where is the nearest outpost? I need to get a message to the Commander.”

The Seeker seemed shocked to see the rage gone, replaced with purpose once again. “It is a day’s ride back the way we came. We will be there tomorrow night.”

Grinding her teeth, her mind buzzed with the need to get the message out as quickly as possible. Very well. There was an option. “Cole!”

The spirit practically materialized beside her, already holding her saddle. “I tried to do it myself. He does not like me as much as he does you. I smell funny.”

Normally, Wren would have laughed, but her drive overrode everything else. “I’ll do it.”

Cassandra stood, nearly spilling the bowl beside her, “Where are we going? We need to pack!”

Wren waved it off, “No, you all will follow in the morning. I need to get that message out NOW. Cole and I won’t attract attention and we can go faster than your horses.”

Her two guardians from earlier wandered into the firelight, Hawke looking a bit confused, Bull seeming to understand, “Sure you don’t need an escort?”

She lifted her hand towards Cole, their packs both bundled in his arms, “I have one. Don’t worry, we will see you all tomorrow night.”

Before there could be any more objections, she slipped past them to where her mount was posted- well away from the horses. He grumbled at her approach, a sound she was learning mean he was pleased, and gave a curious chirp. Giving him only a small smile and a reassuring pat on the neck, she slid the saddle over him and quickly cinched the straps, double checking the buckles and stirrups. The last thing she needed was to fall off in the desert in the middle of the night.

Cole strapped the packs to either side of the creature, then clambered up after her, his small form easily seated behind her in the long saddle. “They will be able to help. They can keep the Wardens from leaving. Keep the demons from growing too strong. It is a good plan.”

Needing no other reassurance, Wren kicked the beast forward and set off into the night.

*

By the time the whole party reached the Exalted Plains, the Inquisition troops that she requested had been sent to Adamant. They wouldn’t directly engage the Wardens- that would have been suicide. Instead, they were to pick off strays, prevent supplies lines from reaching the fortress, and give every illusion that the Inquisition was simply biding its time. Anything to keep the demon army from swarming across Orlais.

Cullen, true to his word, had stayed with the rest of the troops in the Plains, helping put down the rebel fighters, ensuring that the once opposing troop maintained peace, and trying to keep the rift demons from overwhelming them all. However, when her request for aid in Adamant had arrived, he left hurriedly for Skyhold to gather what forces he could and send for aid from their allies. Part of her was upset that he was not there, but another was glad that he understood the severity of the situation.

There was little peace for anyone in the first few days and Cassandra had taken a nasty wound from one of the Revenants that had been stalking the abandoned ramparts. Wren took the time to close every rift in the region, aide the soldiers as she could, send requests to clear rubble or repair a bridge, and even made an alliance with one of the local Dalish clans. The entire time, she ached- not her body, but her heart. Most nights she stalked outside the camp, much as she had on the Storm Coast. When she did sleep, she would wake with a start- half expecting to see a familiar silhouette at the tent entrance. The longer they stayed, the more restless she became, but she was as reluctant to leave as she had been to come here.

In the end, Cassandra had simply ordered her things to be packed and with Bull’s help, forced her onto her mount and out of the Plains. She refused to speak with them for two days, before Varric’s prodding remarks and Cole’s constant worry finally broke her resolve. Once again, her friends spent the trip home trying to keep her distracted. She barely noticed how long it took them to return, and later, she would be unable to remember most of the journey.

Entering the gates of Skyhold brought reality back to her, and she choked back a sob- part relief, part pain. Home. Full of nearly everything that still mattered to her- save one. Varric didn’t let her stop, pushing her along to the stables to house her new pet (much to Master Dennet’s ire, since the smell of it made the horses go into an immediate frenzy). That complete, Cassandra took over, dragging her to the War Room to give their reports and, with the help of Stroud, start to lay down plans for the assault on Adamant. They didn’t let her rest, didn’t let her stop, because every time she had even a moment to herself, she would stare towards the outer doors, lost to her own worries.

When the others could no longer think of things for her to do, they gave in and let her go. Each of the women in the inner circle spoke unheard words of encouragement. Even Cullen stopped to give her shoulder a gentle squeeze and offer to be there if she needed to talk. His were the only words that seemed to penetrate the fog, and she looked up at him, as weary looking as she felt, and nodded.

Dinall was waiting for her when she finally left the room, and he led her with a gentle hand up the stairs to her quarters. The fire had been stoked and by the steam (and sloshed drops of water on the ground) she realized that a bath had been drawn for her as well. Smiling softly, she went up on her tiptoes to brush a kiss across her brother’s cheek, before scrambling out of her clothes and up into the bath.

Washing in rivers and lakes was all well and good, but nothing beat a hot, _steaming_ bath. Her favorite oils had already been added, and she hissed when the water passed over her still healing wounds. The skin was mostly knit, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t thin and sensitive. Reaching blindly to her right, she pulled a towel from the pile and tucked it under her head on the edge of the bath. Dinall was a miracle, and she thanked every god in creation that he had been spared the Conclave disaster. Without this familiar rock, she worried that she would have long ago come adrift in a sea of terror and desperation.

At some point, she must have drifted off, because a light touch to her shoulder startled her, sloshing now tepid water across the balcony. Sheepishly, she smiled up at her Circle brother, taking the towel he offered and carefully coming out of the bath. The smell of stew and fresh bread had filled the room, and after drying off, she wrapped an evening robe around herself and made her careful way down the ladder. Spoiled. He spoiled her. The stew was in a small pot hanging over the fire, the bred was on a plate next to the hearth to keep it warm, and there was a smaller pot sitting on the desk that she had a suspicion would be full of coffee.

They didn’t talk, they didn’t need to. They simply enjoyed the quiet company of the other. Almost she could close her eyes and imagine the rest of their Circle with them, enjoying a rare tavern meal after coming to the Hinterlands. For a time, it was relaxing, heartwarming. But after a while, it only made the ache of their loss more prominent. Pushing her coffee and the last of her bread aside, Wren stood, shuffling a little awkwardly, “Thank you, Fratrem. I…” What should she say?

He piled the dishes together and placed the coffee pot over the fire, knowing she would want some later when sleep eluded her. “It is always my pleasure, Sidas.” He moved past her, pausing to place a kiss on her head, before going down stairs. She stood by the hearth, listening to the door close behind him and the distant footsteps finally fade.

Restlessness returned to her, and she found herself dressing in loose pants and a light tunic, despite the late spring air. Snow still clung to the mountains outside, but even now the runoff would be flooding the rivers below. Her body was overheating, though, and without her direction, her feet carried her out of her apartment and down to the Rotunda. It was quiet, even the birds above were asleep. No candle flickered pale light across the beautiful frescos. No pages turned softly at the desk. No friend lay sleeping on the couch- chasing spirits in the Fade. When they had arrived, she had given in to the desperate hope that he would be waiting for her at the gate. The look on Leliana’s face when she came inside was enough to let her know that he hadn’t returned yet. The end of spring was approaching, and after a month and a half absence, she wondered yet again if he would ever return.

Unable to stand in the solitude of his space any longer, she turned and headed for the battlements. The cool air kissed the path of tears she didn’t even know she had shed. Once again, her feet carried her without her direction, and she soon found herself standing before a heavy door, shivering and unsure. Giving in to the need for any familiar comfort, she pushed the door quietly open. The Commander sat at his desk, diligently writing out missives and reports. Almost she smiled, wondering again if the man ever slept. There had yet been a time where she had called on him and not found him working hard. At least tonight he wasn’t in his usual armor, but instead in what looked like a linen sleeping shirt and bottoms.

“Cullen?” Her voice came out nervous and softer than she intended, but he heard her and jumped to attention.

“My Lady! I didn’-“

She stopped him with a wave of her hand and moved towards his desk, “I’m not here on business… I- are you busy?”

He studied her face for a moment, surprise rapidly shifting to concern and something else. Finally, he smiled gently and held out a hand for her, “Nothing that cannot wait, my lady.”

Wren closed the gap, her hand falling softly on to his. With unexpected ease, he pulled her against his chest, arms wrapping around her tightly. It made her laugh a little, but it also seemed to break the dam that held her emotions at bay. She didn’t sob and wail, but she buried her face against him and let the tears come. Her body shook silently with the pain and confusion and hurt.

“Hush, my lady. It will be alright. I’m here.” She barely heard the words he whispered, his lips brushing the top of her ear as he held her close. To feel someone comfort her like this, who didn’t need to know why she cried first, didn’t need to ask her questions, just offered what solace he could… It eased a knot in her and helped her relax a little until the tears slowed and she managed to catch her breath again. With a final shuddering sigh, she pulled away, noticing the wet stain she had left on his shoulder. Smiling a little awkwardly, she gave herself a mental shake and apologized, “I’m sorry, Commander. I just…” Needed to cry? Wanted to be held? “Thank you.”

He responded with his trademark smile, gentle and understanding, carefully brushing away stray hairs that clung to her tear stained cheek, “I’ll admit, it is not how I hoped to see you this evening, but I am glad to help.” She laughed at that, feeling a little more of the hurt ease. Though obviously pleased that she was no longer crying, he became more serious and asked in a familiar, protective tone, “As much as I enjoy your company, what brought this on?”

She looked down at her feet, unsure on how to express what she was feeling properly. “I find myself…” there weren’t really the right words, were there? The common words, didn’t convey the deep-rooted emotions in her right now, so she settled on the only word she knew that conveyed the right meaning, “I’tel’sal’prear.”

There was a pause and he spoke slowly, confused, “My elvish is very limited, my Lady. What does that mean?”

Before she could respond a new voice answered from the doorway behind her, one that sent her heart straight to her throat, “Homesick.”

Wren whirled, eyes wide and heart racing, “Hahren!” She leaped forward, throwing her arms around his neck "Ahn ane min?!" She spoke desperately on how she missed him, how he’d worried her, all while the tears returned- full of relief this time. She barely registered that the words were elvhen, and he responded in kind, trying to reassure her, comfort her, apologize, “Ir abelas, Da’ean’ma.

She let him lead her out of the room and across the battlements, but she did not look up from where she pressed her face against his side, clutching at his shirt as if he would disappear from under her fingers. Worry that she had been trying so hard to suppress over the last month, blossomed and wilted under his touch and gentle words. Only when the fading scent of bred invaded did she look up to realize that he had led her to her room, and was pulling her down on the bed beside him, keeping her curled against him as he moved them back against her pillows. This sudden intimacy, as non-sexual as it was, brought her back to the present and she finally pulled back a little, unable to move too far for the iron arm that pinned her against his side. She took in his worn look, the bruises that were fading on his cheek, and as her eyes drifted down his form, the blood on his leg, “Solas…”

He shook his head, stopping her before she could ask, “Tomorrow, Da’ean’ma. For now…” His own words stopped and he simply tugged at her until she lay down beside him. Huffing, she placed a hand on his face, letting magic seep into the bruising and take away the pain, heal him. Eyes closed, his face took on a sour look, but she made a shushing noise and he did not stop her healing. Finished there, she let her hands slide down his face, neck, chest- using her magic to search out any other injuries and knit them back together. It wasn’t until her hand brushed his hip that a sharp intake of air made her realize how her actions could be taken. Blushing, she finished healing his leg before pulling her hand quickly back.

Chewing on her lip a little, she still didn’t quite lean against him, “Are you… are you ok?”

He sighed, eyes opening to stare at the ceiling, “It hurts. It always does.” His eyes turn to hers, calm and accepting, “But I will survive.”

She offered a small smile of sympathy, “Thank you for coming back. I wish…” What? That they had made it there sooner? That she could have saved his friend?

Solas shook his head, speaking as if he could hear her thoughts, “You were a true friend. You did everything you could to help. I would not abandon you now.”

Not knowing what else she could say after that, she finally gave in to his tugging arm and laid against him, her head nestled in the hollow of his shoulder.  There were so many questions she had, so many things she wanted to tell him, so many thoughts she wanted to share. But he was tired, and despite his return, obviously still mourning. She listened to the fire burn in the hearth, and the wind moan outside her windows, and told herself to be grateful that he had returned in one piece, much less at all. Finally, needing to say _something_ , she whispered to his chest, “The next time you need to mourn, you don’t have to do it alone.”

His body stiffened under her, and she worried that she had said something wrong, but slowly he relaxed and she felt him give a short nod, “It’s been so long since I could trust someone…” He paused, as if thinking. “I’ll work on it. Thank you, Da’ean’ma.”

With an odd sense of relief, she found herself smiling and actually drifting off to the soft sounds of his breathing, the steady heartbeat beneath her ear a reassuring lullaby. He was home. Everything would be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another day, another chapter! My Nanowrimo goal of 50,000 words for the month is almost done, and it will bring my fic up to 100,000 words! I'm super excited! We still have a long ways to go, so stick around!
> 
>  
> 
> Translation:
> 
> I’tel’sal’prear. - Homesick, though on a deeper level, indicates missing a part of what is essential to ‘home’
> 
> Ahn ane min? - What are you doing here?


	20. The Trail of the Rebels

“-and then, the slimy ferret had the tenacity to slobber on my hand, _again_ , and strut about as if I had already accepted! Josie was beside herself with glee over the whole thing, but it took everything I had not to lay him out on the steps like the dog he is!” Wren huffed dramatically, flopping down before the fire and their little picnic of finger foods.

The rumble of Solas’ laughter made her forget her anger at the Duke, “Ah! I wish I could have seen it. I _am_ surprised you did not set the place on fire in your rage.”

She gave him a self-satisfied smirk, shrugging, “I would have ruined my uniform, and then I would have had both Josie _and_ Leliana hounding me about ‘proper decorum’ and all that rubbish.”

The elf’s long fingers plucked a slice of apple from the tray before them, chiding her gently, “There is a time and place for the behavior of the nobles. It is not so strange, really, and is an act that has been played out by their kind for eons beyond counting.”

Curious, she leaned towards him, supporting herself with one arm while holding a cooling cup of tea in the other hand, “You’ve seen this in the Fade?”

“Of course. Every people has a ruling class, and every ruling class has their version of the Game that the Orlesian’s play. The difference is only in the masks they wear.” There was something heavy in his words, but since he did not offer anything further, she did not ask.

When they woke that morning, still wrapped tightly around each other, he had told her some of what he had been doing. Knowing that Wisdom was not entirely lost, and that some new spirit may come to that place again was as much a relief to her as it had been a comfort to him. True, it would not be the same, but it was not the end of anything either. He explained that there was no finality in the Fade, and that only on this side of the Veil did death truly mean that something was gone.

Unwilling to deal with the rest of the world or let him out of her sight, Wren had called for a light meal to be brought up to them. Retelling of Halamshiral didn’t hurt as much as she thought it would, and she found his wry humor about the whole thing reassuring. When she got to the end of the night, she hesitated, unsure on his reaction to her dance with Cullen, but she need not have worried.

“I would hope that you danced with more than the Duchess and a few nobles?”

Worrying her lip a little, she nodded, “I did.”

He must have picked up something in her voice, because a wide smile spread across his lips and he looked into the fire, “I will have to thank the Commander for ensuring you had, at least, a good ending to the night.”

Blushing furiously, she glanced at him and ducked her head a little, “It does not… upset you?”

One side of his lip curled up and an eyebrow raised, the look was enough to let her know that he did not, but he voiced it anyways, “Why should it? I only wish that I could have danced with you as well…” his voice dropped to a near whisper at the end, and Wren had to fight the urge to kiss away that sorrow.

“Perhaps Josie will put on a fete here, and you can steal me away for a dance then.”

He laughed then, eyes crinkling in the corners, “Oh! I am sure she would be more than pleased to entertain the nobles, all clamoring for your hand, and have an apostate elf be the one occupying your night.”

When phrased that way, she could only giggle as well, just imagining the spluttering excuses the ambassador would try to spin on her behalf.

A knock at her door made them both pause, and she scrambled up to answer it. Just as she reached the staircase the door pushed open and her Circle brother, his face unreadable, started up the stairs, “Is it true, Sidas? Is he back?”

Something in his voice gave her pause, and her excited smile waversed. “Y-yes…”

His brow dipped and he began to stomp up the stairs. Realizing that this was not her kindly, healer friend coming to greet Solas, she attempted to bar his way. Too large for her to truly stop and too strong, despite his generally passive nature, the mage simply lifted her up at the hips and set her aside, ignoring her struggling and demanded questions. Solas stood, a man confused but almost accepting of his coming fate. Dinall’s body started to tense as he gets closer and Wren almost didn’t see the swing of his fist as it landed squarely across Solas’ jaw, laying the elf out on the carpet and scattering their plates and cups across the floor.

“Dinall!” She yelped, leaping to throw herself in between the two men, pushing at her brother’s chest in shock while the man ignored her and continued his advance.

From this side, she could see that his face had transformed from unreadable to thunderous, and little sparks of static pricking at her where their skin touched. Lips snarling, he practically spits at Solas, “If you ever, _EVER_!, leave her like that again, I will _personally_ ensure that you are thrown into the nearest Rift!”

“Dinall stop!” She shoved, putting her own magic into it this time and finally got him to stumble back.

His gaze moved to her and she could see so much anger there that it felt like his eyes would burn through her, “ _He_ hurt you! He _left_ you! No word that he was ok, no acknowledgement of when he’d be back- just gone! Then he waltzes back in here like everything is the same, not knowing how many nights you cried, how many times you were so lost in your head that you could not hear us, how many times the very thought of him swept the smile from your face!” A sharp inhale from Solas direction distracted the enraged mage, and he whirled to face his foe, pushing against the barrier that Wren threw up, “You don’t understand what it was like. You left, and you took part of her with you! The _only_ time I saw my Sidas again was when she was dancing with the damned ex-Templar!” His anger exploded again and electricity crashed against the barrier, shattering it with a concussive force. Before Wren could throw another up, the mage fade-stepped to where Solas was gaping, his hands pulling the elf up by the collar until they were practically nose to nose. Wren saw magic spark and ripple in Solas’ hands, but he did not raise them to defend himself.

Dinall snarled again, giving his quarry a shake like a dog worrying a rabbit, “You _bastard._ If you know what is good for you, you will treat her like the star she is, or Maker help me, I will ensure that _Cullen_ does and you are kicked out of the gates!”

Wren finally grabed onto his shoulder and pulled it back, “Dinall, stop! Let him go!”

With a final snarl and a little shake, he released Solas’ shirt and turned, glaring down at her, “You shouldn’t be defending him. He doesn’t deserve you after that.”

Pointing a finger to the door, Wren mustered up the most venomous look she could, though it is heavily dampened by the confusion over the outburst and the shock that he would say such things. Reluctantly, the Tevinter left, though not without shooting Solas one last glare over his shoulder. The door slamed behind him, leaving the two mages in relative silence.

What should she say? An outburst like that… Was there anything she _could_ say? She was saved from having to by Solas himself, standing where Dinall had dropped him and looking out the doors to the balcony with an emotionless mask, “He is right, you know.” She shook her head, but words wouldn’t come. Eyes full of swirling emotion, stared at her a moment before stepping closer, “You should not have forgiven me so easily.”

“There was nothing to forgive, Solas.”

“Wasn’t there? Is it true- what he said about after I left?”

Pause. Breathe in. Sigh. “Yes.”

He nodded, as if he had already accepted it and simply wanted her to admit it. “Then he is right.” There was a finality that scared her, and her hand fluttered up to try to take his, but he turned towards the stairs himself and started for the door. Stopping at the top of the stairs, he did not look at her and his voice was clipped, “I am sorry, for the pain I caused you.” Then he was gone and Wren was left standing in a whirlwind of confusion.

*

Wrathful would be a good way to describe her demeanor for the rest of the afternoon, and once her advisors realized that she was not going to be much use to them today (and they were tired of the carpet getting singed), they sent her out of the room, telling her that she had two days off while they started to send letters to those who could aid them at Adamant. Normally she would have spent those two days recovering and enjoying the company of her friends, but as soon as she left the War Room, she made a beeline for Dinall’s quarters in the mage tower and with no preamble, threw the door open.

In hindsight, she should maybe have checked to see where Dorian was, but a tiny part of her felt smug that she was interrupting them just as Dinall had interrupted her. The two men leaped back from each other, clothed, but rather ruffled looking. “Inquisitor!” “Sidas?!” Dorian had a handful of lightning ready to throw at the intruder, but as soon as he realized it was her it snuffed out.

The smile she gave Dorian was more of a toothy snarl than anything else, and he blanched at the show, “Excuse me, Dorian. I have need to speak with my _brother_.”

Scrambling to his feet and trying to straighten his hair, he didn’t keep eye contact long, “I- ah, of course, Inquisitor. I’ll just-“ He didn’t finish, just bustled out the door, closing it behind him. A small part of her felt bad. She knew that Dinall preferred the company of men, and she had suspected, based on how the two interacted, _strongly_ suspected Dorian’s preference, but it still was not kind of her to barge in and pull his choices out. She would have to apologize to him. But first…

“Sidas, what is the meaning of this?”

Turning her glare back on to him, Wren stepped up to where Dinall sat, only slightly taller than him like this, and pointed her finger at his nose, “The next time you get the idea into your head that I need you to threaten my friends, I will kindly thank you to _stay out of it!_ ”

He pursed his lips and glared right back at her, “Perhaps, if you chose men who were not out to rip out your heart every time they get the chance, I would not feel the need to protect you from them!”

“First Cullen, now Solas- what next, _brother_? Will you berate Sera for not being nice to mages? Will you threaten to toss Vivienne off her little balcony? You can’t keep doing this!”

“And _you_ can’t keep forgiving them when they hurt you!”

“Solas didn’t hurt me!”

“BULLSHIT!” He stood then, towering over her now. “I may not have been able to be with you during all of the ordeal in Halamshiral, but I saw enough and Dorian saw the rest! At least Cullen has an excuse- being a bigoted ex-Templar-“

“Leave him out of this!”

“-But Solas left because a little _demon_ died and he couldn’t handle it!”

“It was a spirit of Wisdom!”

“IT WAS A DEMON!”

Breathing heavily, Wren’s voice drops to just above a whisper, “And Cole?”

Startled, Dinall huffs, “That is different.”

“Solas does not see it so. To him, a Spirit of Compassion is just as valuable as a Spirit of Wisdom. I know you have become friends with Cole. So too had he become friends with Wisdom. It was not some spirit that died, it was a close friend.”

He shook his head slowly, “I still cannot forgive him for hurting you.”

Sighing, she stepped back a little, trying to let the air between them settle. “ _You_ do not have to. I do ask that you do not assault him or any of my friends again.”

She can see the hurt in his eyes, and it feels like something has broken between them, but she is not in the mood to try to fix it. Turning, she exits the tower and makes her way down to the courtyard. Pausing, she turns and heads up to the entrance of Skyhold proper and makes her way to the rotunda. Solas is there at his desk, head buried in a book. _Apparently, that is his escape from the world. Maybe I should ask Dorian if he knows of a good bookseller…_ Knocking softly on the open door, she waits until he gives a soft “Enter,” before approaching. He turns his head only enough to see who is bothering him, before giving her a small nod, “Inquisitor.”

Scowling, she huffs and comes up next to him, “Solas.” Her tone leaves no room for him to ignore her, and he sighs, setting the book aside to give her his full attention. Now that she has it though, she shuffles a little nervously, “I… Spoke with Dinall.” He raises one thin eyebrow and waits. “His behavior was inappropriate _and_ -“ she holds up a hand to cut him off when he opens his mouth to object, “-unwarranted. Yes, I was upset when you left. Yes, I was hurt that you did not contact me. _However_ , I understood that you had lost a dear friend, and I did not hold it against you, nor do I begrudge you that time alone.” With a small smile, she touched his shoulder, “I meant what I said last night. If you ever need to mourn, you need only ask me and I will join you.”

Bright eyes study her for a handful of breaths, and he tips his head slowly in acknowledgement. “Thank you, Da’ean’ma. I am still… _unused_ to having someone I can rely on outside of the Fade.”

The fingers on his shoulder dance up to his cheek, brushing a thumb across it, “I know. It is why I was only relieved that you came back, not angry that you left.”

Shaking his head now with a half-smile, he stared at her quizzically, “You are a curiosity.”

She laughed, stepping back to let him return to reading, “So you have said, ma falon.”

Feeling lighter that she had before, Wren leaves Solas to his peaceful solitude in order to get some actual work done. There were papers to organize, letters to send, and companions to speak with. But first, she wanted to visit with her scaled friend in the stables.

The late afternoon sun was warm, almost unseasonably so for these mountains, and she almost regretted wearing her long sleeves. No longer did the courtyard smell of manure and mold and cold sweat; the trees that had been left standing after reconstruction were blooming, their sweet-smelling flowers drifting down on the merchants and loiterers in the yard. Delicate vines, ones that would not break the stone or allow someone to climb them, were encouraged to grow over some portions of the wall, adding color in both leaf and flower, while also covering the new masonry. It was a beautiful effect, and Wren wondered what Skyhold would look like come fall.

A few people waved to her or called out as she passed, and more than a few of the soldiers waved excitedly or saluted- hand to heart. No one stopped her progress entirely, though, so she was pleased to make it to the stables in little time. Master Dennet was not on premise, and one of his apprentices informed her that he was down in the summer pens, overseeing the construction of the larger stables and fences. Skyhold could only hold so many horses, and keeping their stock at the little village forming at the foot of the mountain was getting tiresome. Along with a small herd of domestic druffalo and rams, the horses would be primarily house in the fields now. The companions and advisors’ mounts, as well as Wren’s own special creatures, would be mostly kept up here in the stable within the walls. Wren was grateful, but also knew that some of that was due to her recent acquisition.

Just as she came to the special stall, separated from the rest for the sanity of the horses, a scaly snout poked over the wall and an odd, chirping trill let her know that she was recognized and welcomed. A grin broke out and she rushed the last few steps to her new friend. He huffed and snuffled her, slobbering a bit on her shirt, before pushing against her hands and demanding attention. _Not much different than a horse, really_ …

“Andreste preserve me!” A familiar curse pulled her attention away from her scaled friend for a moment. The Commander stood with his hand pressed over his heart, his face pale and eyes wide.

Wren grinned at him, “Isn’t he magnificent?”

Cullen’s eyes darted up to her then back to the creature with disbelief. “Maker… I thought the Hart was terrifying.”

Looking affronted, Wren pouted at him, “Samahl is not terrifying! And neither is this sweet beast.” She turned at the last part, squishing his cheeks together a bit and shaking his head back and forth. A long tongue darted out and licked her wrist, making her laugh. She could hear Cullen mutter a curse again, but she ignored it, choosing to change the subject, “What brought you down here, anyway?”

Stepping closer to the opposite wall, he didn’t take his eyes off of the dracolisk, “I was looking for the horse master. We’ll need plow horses for the assault on Adamant.”

Wrinkling her brow, she glanced over her shoulder at him, “Horses? Cullen, I won’t have us using horses in the fight.”

He shook his head, holding up a hand and looking a little sick as the drake snuffled at her cheek excitedly, “N-no, we need them just to pull the trebuchets and war equipment. Our regular mounts aren’t trained for that kind of hauling.”

Relieved, Wren nodded and gave her drake one final pat before turning to Cullen, “He’s down in the summer paddocks. I’ll go with you. I wanted to discuss some things about my new mount anyways.”

Blanching when the creature reached its muzzle out to sniff him, the Commander scurried out of the barn with little grace and less pride. Wren couldn’t help but laugh softly. Here was a man that faced down monsters, abominations, demons, and other Templars- but was afraid of a little dracolisk!

They’d made it about halfway down the trail when Cullen suddenly stumbled, his hand going up to his nose and a hiss of pain coming through his clenched teeth. “Cullen!” Wren scrambled to aid him, taking his elbow to help him stand, but he waved her off.

Standing slowly on his own, Wren hovering nearby in case he fell again, he offered her a wan smile, “I’m fine. Please, let’s continue.”

She scowled and stepped in front of him when he made to keep going, “Cullen, you are not fine. What was that?”

Shaking his head, he rubbed the back of his neck, “It- it’s unimportant right now.”

“Cullen, please. You can talk to me.”

His smile grew a little more sincere, and he placed a hand on her shoulder, “I know I can, Inquisitor. I will… tell you. But not right now. We have more important things to worry about. _You_ have more important things to worry about.”

Knowing how stubborn the man could be, Wren sighed and shook her head, but let him pass. The rest of the way was taken in silence, and they were all business once they found Master Dennet, but Wren kept her eye on the Commander, watching the way he winced at loud sounds, or rubbed at his temple. The Commander was hiding his pain well, but now that she knew what to look for, she would keep watch him.

*

Adamant’s assault was still a long way off, and Wren originally feared the wait. Leliana quickly nullified that fear, and replaced it with a new one, “We have reports of Red Templars spotted in Emprise du Lion, as well as abductions and raids on a town there. Originally, we intended on sending some scouts to get a better idea of what was going on, but it seems that winter holds an unusual sway there and our scouts have been unable to get much beyond the town.”

Massaging her neck for a moment, Wren studied the maps that they did have of the area and sighed, “Too close for my taste, anyway. We can’t afford to ignore them until after Adamant.” Pulling the meager reports to her so she could read them herself, she felt something akin to fear twist inside of her. This wasn’t just a couple lurking Templars, these reports- while yes, made by panicked townsfolk- indicated much larger numbers than they had yet faced.

“I agree.” Leliana spoke, shuffling a few other papers and sliding another onto the pile of what Wren was reading, “The last thing we need is to take our forces to Adamant, only to have Skyhold attacked from such a close threat.”

Glancing up at the spymaster, Wren grimaced, “Do you think we’ll be able to clear them out in time? Will we have enough people here to protect the fort when we leave for the Western Approach?”

Leliana pulled another paper from a different stack, “Commander Cullen has already taken that into account. He intends to leave the majority of the mages in Skyhold, along with a number for our stealth forces.” Neither of them needed to point out the Commander’s reasoning. Despite being a mage herself, Wren agreed with it. With so many demons and the ability to bind mages, the risk of bringing their little army of demon magnets was too high.

“Alright. I won’t have Skyhold unprotected, and I won’t let this threat remain so close to home. I’ll take a few of my best out in the morning.”

Wren spent only a short time more with Leliana, discussing other reports and checking that they areas they had made safe were _staying_ that way. Almost she longed for the simplicity of things before Haven- when the most they were doing is trying to keep the Chantry from burning her as a heretic. Almost.

As she left the War Room, she contemplated who would be best to bring. Red Templars were heavy hitters. They were fierce, unrelenting, and immune to a lot of their normal tactics. Iron Bull was a definite, and Varric was always good in a pinch. While she wanted to take Solas with her, his magic might be problematic against such resistant foes. Dorian wasn’t quite as good of a healer, but he’d been learning more from Dinall lately, and he was rather efficient with elemental magic. Sera was right out- as good as she was with a bow, she tended to get snappy around ‘weird’ things. Blackwall might be a good choice, and it had been a while since she’d taken him with her. He was good at spotting weaknesses in the enemies’ tactics.

Finally deciding, she left to tell her chosen companions to pack for cold weather.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Agh! So close to my goal and 100,000 words! I've hit a bit of writer's block after this chapter, but I promise to get through it! I have so much planned and written for the future, so don't think that this will end anytime soon! Thank you to all my readers, I couldn't do this without you!


	21. Who have given Their Love

_Commander Cullen,_

_The situation in here in Emprise du Lion is worse than we anticipated. The Red Templars took over the mine here and have been kidnapping locals, for reasons we do not know, but can likely guess. We were able to track them to the fort in the area, Suledin Keep, but have been unable to penetrate further. As much as I hate to draw from our forces preparing for Adamant, I fear we will need some of them to aid us. A few mages, particularly those suited for healing, would also be helpful. While there is a good supply of Elfroot in the area, there is only so much one little plant can do. I’m sending along a map with likely places to set up an encampment, along with descriptions of each._

_Warn them. The Red Lyrium in the area is unlike anything we have yet seen. It is taking over, and though we are destroying deposits as we find them, I fear that this entire section of the Dales may need to be abandoned._

_I hope things are going better at Skyhold than they are here._

_Inquisitor Trevelyan._

_Ps. Enclosed are some samples of the Elfroot and Arbor Blessing that are so prolific in the area. Have Adan make you some pain relief potion with it. The ingredients are stronger here than in most places._

_-Wren_

Tucking the letter into the carrier pouch, she handed it off to the officer in charge of the ravens. Sighing, Wren laid back down, wincing slightly at the twinge in her hip. There was no way around her request. The last four days spent here were a living hell, and it was pure luck that let Wren and her limited group of fighters get out with their lives. The Red Templars weren’t just numerous, they were incredibly strong. Wren’s current bedrest was thanks to a behemoth they had fought. Out of potions and out of mana, Dorian was able to patch her up just enough to keep her from bleeding out, but not enough to really heal her. The wound was still open, though bleeding sluggishly, and Wren herself was exhausted. The rest of her party were sleeping, while the requisitions officer did what she could to make more potions, both Elfroot and lyrium.

If it had just been Red Templars, perhaps they would not have been so bad off. However, the Rifts in the area were also overpowered, spewing Greater Terrors and Pride Demons into the surrounding area. Wren suspected it had something to do with the concentration of Red Lyrium, but without Solas there to speak with about it, she didn’t want to say her thoughts out loud. She kicked herself for not bringing him, but at the time, she had hoped he might be more useful in Skyhold and the preparations for Adamant. They would need him to discuss the best ways to deal with the demons that reports said were swarming in greater numbers by the day. Blackwall and Bull were amazing fighters, Varric helped with crowd control, and Dorian’s elemental magic has saved them more than once. But between Solas healing ability and his calm demeanor… She should have brought him. Well, too late now. She supposed that he could be sent for, and arrive with the reinforcements, but they still needed him at Skyhold. She would just have to make due with whatever healers Cullen decided to send along.

“Inquisitor?” A tentative voice called from the entrance of her tent.

“Come in.” The soldiers were under strict orders not to bother her or her party unless it was necessary. Lucky for her, the soldier who entered carried two vials of potion- Elfroot by the smell of it. Sighing gratefully, she took them and immediately uncorked on, downing it in one go. The pungent odor filled the cold tent, but the relief was instantaneous.  Taking a deep breath, she felt the pain in her side, hip, and shoulder dissipate, and the tingling in her toes stopped. Glancing sharply at the man, she lifted the second vial, “Have the others been given theirs?”

“Of course, Inquisitor. Just as you ordered.”

“Are they recovering well?”

The soldier shrugged, pulling the tent flap aside further to show the center of camp, “See for yourself.”

Grimacing at the stiffness that still filled her body, she pulled the walking stick over to her from the side of her cot, and hobbled to her feet to make her way outside. Sure enough, there was her merry crew, all huddled around the cook fire, laughing and talking with the camp soldiers, trying to appear as healthy as possible. Working with all of them for this long, she could see that they weren’t fully back on their feet yet, but they were putting on a good show. Bull was leaning against a tree, subtly favoring his left leg. Dorian was perched against the requisitions table, waving on hand dramatically in his story, while keeping the other tucked carefully at his side. Varric sat next to one of the soldiers tending the pot, complaining about the lack of decent ale for the camp- wincing when any noise became too loud for his concussed head to handle. And Blackwall was scouring a map of the area with one of the scouts, marking down the places they had found, long abandoned by Grey Wardens. She didn’t wonder that he wasn’t sitting, and imagined he’d be sleeping on his stomach for a few days more.

While Dorian and Varric had complained on the way out here, about the cold, about the lack of decent civilization and ale, neither of them complained once they made it to Sahrina. The town was basically destroyed, and red lyrium sprouted out of the ground all around the poor people left to struggle to survive. Some of them were already infected. You could see it in their eyes, and Dorian and Wren could hear it as they walked past. The place reeked of desperation and lost hope.

Stretching her aching back, carefully, so as not to pull the stiches on her side, the young mage worked her way through the handful of refugees and soldiers to the fire, nodding to Varric and turning to the soldier beside him, “Make sure that we get some of this food to the people here. I’ll go back out in a bit to grab a few more deer. See if you can’t get a roasting pit made for them.” He nodded, standing up and grabbing a few of the townsfolk and a couple soldiers to get started. She ladled herself out a bit of the thin stew, grateful that she had regular meals, and hoping that she could at least improve the fortunes of this town a little. They hadn’t been able to get to the areas where the captives were being held, but they had at least stopped the raids. For now.

Flopping gracelessly beside Varric, Wren offered him a small smile, “Feeling better, then?”

The dwarf shrugged, pulling Bianca back into his lap to clean, “As good as can be expected right now.” His eyes drifted up to the camp, watching a few more villagers wander through, “I’ll take another brawl with a behemoth over what these poor bastards are going through, though.”

Wren nodded, poking at her stew and taking a small bite. Yes, they were far luckier, even with scars and bruises, than the people who lived here. “Do you think we will ever be able to quell the Red Lyrium’s spread?”

Varric shook his head, eyeing a distant glow of red, “I just don’t know. Destroying the bigger deposits seems to help some, but this?” He waved a hand out, “This is more than a couple stray deposits. I might not have grown up in the thaigs, but I still know a thing or two about how lyrium works, even the red stuff.” His foot tapped the ground and he gave her a serious look, “This stuff is coming from deeper. I mean, they’re mining it here. Maybe if we can find the source, we can stop the spread.”

Nodding, Wren polished off her stew in silence. They still had so much to do, and so little knowledge about what they were dealing with. She felt like they were all in a headlong rush to the abyss, and wasn’t sure how to stop it. If there was one thing she could give the hell that was this part of the Dales, it was that she was too tired and too numb to start panicking.

*

A return raven came two days later, assuring her that reinforcements were on their way, and that they would follow her to Adamant after Emprise du Lion was cleared out. There was also a personal note from Cullen, thanking her for the potion ingredients and assuring her that he would take them. He asked after her health, saying that the report from the scouts indicated her party had been badly injured, admonishing her for not including that, and begging her to take care of herself. It was touching, and Wren kept the note with her as a reminder.

Knowing that the soldiers would arrive soon helped buoy everyone’s spirit, and they spent the next two days assisting in the rebuilding of the town- as much as their battered bodies would let them. There was no reason for the villagers to stay here, and it was a likely death sentence if the lyrium kept spreading, but many of them had nowhere else to go and refused to leave their home. The Red Templars seemed to be gathering their own strength, and it made Wren worry about allowing them to fortify in the Keep for much longer. She and her party made a point to harry any of the enemy that dared leave their fortress, and pushed further into the cold, hoping to find and release any of the captives they could. Every time they made any progress though, they were rebuffed and forced to retreat yet again. With the Rifts near the camp sealed, at least the main area near the town would be relatively safe.

A few days after hearing that the Commander had sent the needed troops, Wren and her party were returning from Valeska's Watch, covered in blood- most of it their own- and tired once again, but at least the Darkspawn there had been sealed away again. They trudged up the path to the town, but the sound of shouting caught their attention. Fearing the worst, they drew weapons and ran the rest of the way- only to find that it was not enemies in the town, but the much-needed troops. Relieved, they sheathed weapons and wove through the crowd to find out who was in charge and get an assessment of what they would have available. Soldiers parted to let them through, a few placing fists over hearts. There were already mages working on those who had been injured previously, and supplies were being passed out to the villagers. A familiar face caught Wren’s attention, and she made her way to where Scout Harding was showing a handful of soldiers the maps they had been filling in. “Harding! I need to know who’s in charge of the troops. We don’t have a lot of daylight left, but we should be able to get to the encampment we were discussing and get set up there.”

The dwarf smiled, pointing to her right, “Apparently, the bossy elf was put in charge of the troops until you could take over.”

Confused, Wren turned to where she had been pointed, only to yelp and practically dash through the crowd to get to him, “Solas!”

He turned just as she reached him, barely holding up a hand in time to keep her from throwing her arms around him, “As pleased as I am to see you, Da’ean, I would rather not get whatever that is all over your armor, on me.” A sparkle in his eye let her know he was teasing- mostly- and she looked down to realize that she was, in fact, still covered in muck and blood from the Warden fort.

“Ugh. Yes, let me get cleaned off.”

She started to turn but he held out a hand to stop her, concern marring his features, “Is that… Darkspawn blood?”

Nodding, she shrugged and tried to pass it off lightly, “It is. We found a breach into the Deep Roads. Managed to seal it off, so it shouldn’t be an issue.” He raised an eyebrow, the question he wanted to ask obvious. She shook her head, her voice dropping low, “Don’t worry, falon, no one was contaminated by the Blight.” Giving her a nod, he waved her off to clean up. She wondered at his instant trust of her assessment, even as she made her way to her tent to change. It wasn’t quite sinking in that he was here, actually here. With each layer that she peeled off, her smile grew wider. When she was down to her smalls, she shoved the bloodied clothes and armor out the tent, knowing that one of the soldiers would add it to the pile to be cleaned and mended, then shuffled over to the small basin she kept in her tent for washing off. It wasn’t large enough to get into, but it held enough water that she could use a cloth to get reasonably clean. A quick warming rune had the water steaming, and she went through the motions of washing while her mind wandered.

With Solas and the soldiers joining them, they could make a foray into the heart of the territory, rescue whatever captives were still alive, and maybe put enough of a dent into the Templar forces to actually keep them at bay. There was no thought in her mind that they could clear out the whole area- they would need far more than a few dozen soldiers to do that. But if she could just get it under control, she could leave it until after Adamant and send a much larger, better prepared strike team in with a sizeable army to back them up. Leaving any of the Templars here was awful, but what other option did they have? Her elite team kept retreating with more wounds and less hope than the last time they went out, and she honestly wasn’t sure how much longer they’d last.

Feeling a little more clean and alive, Wren re-wrapped her side and put a new brace on her knee, before slipping on her smalls and a loose linen tunic. While she shuffled through the chest to find a warm enough pair of pants, a voice cursed softly behind her, “Fenedhis!”

She called fire to her hand, but before she could whirl and throw it at the intruder, a grip like steel snapped around her wrist, another hand sliding to her hip and pulling her back against a firm body. A familiar smell filled her nose, and she couldn’t help the blush that burned her cheeks, even as the fire in her hand snuffed out. “Solas-“

He cut her off with a growl, his lips brushing her ear, “Ma’haurasha, do you have any idea what the sight of you like this does to me?”

It took her a moment to understand what brought this on, but the chill air on her legs reminded her that she was still only partially dressed. Mind warring between embarrassment and the thrill of him pressed so close to her, she gave a nervous chuckle and turned her head a little towards his, “No, hahren, I do not.”

The Anchor fluttered and hissed from her hand, and he turned her slowly to face him, brushing her palm with a finger. His voice was soft, without the rumbling edge of arousal that had been there a moment before, “What were you like, before the Anchor?” Wren quirked an eyebrow, glancing down at her hand before looking back to him. “Has it affected you? Changed you in any way? Your mind? Your morals? Your…spirit?”

The line of questioning caught her off guard, and she shook her head slowly, “I don’t believe so. Though, I am not sure how well I would notice. Dinall does not seem to think I have changed.”

“Ah.” Between the tone and the look on his face, it seemed he was disappointed in her answer.

Curious on the change in mood, she tipped her head, “Why do you ask?”

He turned away a little, taking a small step to the side to put a little distance between them. “You show wisdom I have not seen since…” He struggled here, and Wren recognized it as one of the moments he was preparing to evade specific information. “Since my deepest journeys into the ancient memories of the Fade.” Looking back up at her, his face shifted to bare honesty, “You are not what I expected.”

A little smile pulled up one side of her lips, “A curiosity?”

He returned it in kind. “A mystery.” Shaking his head, a hint of passion flared back into his voice, “Most people are predictable. You have shown _subtlety_ in your actions. A wisdom that goes against everything I expected. If the humans could raise someone with a spirit like yours, have I misjudged them?”

Wren shook her head slowly, “I am my own person. How I was raised did not affect who I became. There were no wise and noble creatures among my family, and the Circle was meant to break me. I do not think you misjudged them, but not all of us should be painted with the same brush.”

He gave a skeptical nod, “Perhaps that is it. Most people act with so little understanding of the world.” Voice dropping to a soft rumble, he shook his head, “But not you.”

Feeling like she needed to find out where this was going, she asked bluntly, “What does that mean, Solas?”

His eyes burned her and his words set her heart in her throat, “It means I have not forgotten the kiss.”

A gust of wind might carry her away right then, but her voice still came out- if a little breathy, “Good…” Her feet moved forward to close the space that he’d put between them. Those eyes, burning, painful, but full of passion. Sighing softly to himself, he turned as if to walk out of the tent, but her hand on his arm stopped him, her voice with a pleading edge, “Don’t go.”

Back still to her, he spoke softly, “It would be kinder in the long run.” His shoulders tensed and relaxed as something warred in his head, “But loosing you would…” Turning in her grasp, he swooped down on her and covered her lips with his own. Hands found her hips, and her own arms slid up his back to steady herself against his onslaught. Whatever the kiss in the Fade had held was a dim spark compared to the fire he poured into her now. There was no space between them, and the air they breathed came only from each other. _This_. This was what she had yearned for, wanted so badly that she could not think of ever having it be real. Dreams were pale compared to the reality of having his arms wrapped around her like metal bands, his chest pressed against her until she could not tell whose heart was beating to what rhythm, lips and mouths so eager to explore that there was no end to one or beginning to another.

When Solas finally pulled away from her, she could see a swirl of emotion cross his face, and as the words left his mouth, they held a hint of sorrowful finality to them, “Ar lath ma, Vhenan.” It took her a moment to realize that he was out of the tent just moments after saying those words, and she could only stand in the cold air in shock while her heart flew far above.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Alright, so I moved, went on a very long road trip, and generally had a busy couple months. Now it's Camp NaNoWriMo again, so I'm dedicating time to write! Short chapter to start with, but it'll get longer on the next. And YES! After over 100,000 freaking words, they are FINALLY together! Woo! But, how will our lovely Commander react to this??? Dun-dun-Daaaauuuunnn!!!!
> 
> Translations:  
> Ma’haurasha- a sexual term, basically meaning someone who entices your or elicits extreme desire  
> Ar lath ma, Vhenan.- Ambiguous, it can mean both “I love you, Heart.” And “You love me, Heart.” There is potentially deeper meaning, which spacetango discusses right here on AO3 (look it up!).


	22. The Sun Always Rises

 

Leading the charge to break out the last of the prisoners, and hopefully strike a powerful enough blow to the Red Templars that they would not bother the Inquisition for a while, had seemed like a good plan. They had backup. They had tactics. They had more people. It should have worked.

Reality is a much less pleasant companion than potential.

Wren could remember charging in, fire flashing from her staff to envelope a behemoth. She could see the great club of an arm lashing out over her head, and remembered rolling out of the way as it landed where she had been standing. Even the gutting thrust she made on the creature, it’s insides spilling sluggishly on the charred ground. But the blow that knocked her out? There wasn’t even a vague idea of where that came from.

Unable to determine how much time had passed, Wren finally opened her eyes. Her senses had already told her that she was no longer in Emprise, but was instead in a warm room on a soft bed. Now her eyes provided the rest of the information. Someone had brought her back to her own bed, in her own room, in Skyhold. There was a soft fire crackling merrily at her feet in the hearth, but the great doors to her balconies were thrown open, letting the early morning light to pour in on the gentle spring breeze. A soft snore from her left made her turn her head, only barely throbbing from whatever took her down. Curled up beside her bed, his front half draped on the blankets while his back was tucked into a comfy reading chair, sat her heart. There was a book just lying on the bed, his fingers stretched toward it as if to read it even in his sleep, and a cold cup of something was perched precariously on the edge of her nightstand. The elf must have been dreaming, because his ear twitched and the hand that was under his head clenched the sheets. What did he dream of? Was he walking the Fade? Did he ever just… dream?

Sitting up a little more, she slid her hand into his and leaned over, brushing her lips across his ear as she spoke, “Wake up.” He did not startle, but his eyes opened slowly and blinked at her smiling face for a moment, before a frown marred his previously peaceful features. Wren couldn’t help but laugh softly, moving back a little as he sat up, “Why are you frowning at me like I’m a naughty child?”

Pushing the book aside, the elf looked her over, his hands coming up to her head and chest, hovering above them with a soft blue glow, “You should not be awake yet.”

Ignoring him, she scooted back against the head of the bed and stretched slowly, “Oh? I feel well rested.” The worry lines that creased his face made her pause. “Solas… how long was I out?” He turned away, “Solas. How long?”

With a put-upon sigh, he turned to look at her, his face still serious, “If I tell you, you must promise that you will not leave this bed, or this room, until I have deemed you well enough to do so.” The stipulation made her worry more, and her mind ran down her body in search of pain or harm. There was nothing that she could feel that was off, other than feeling a little light headed and _very_ hungry. Nodding slowly in agreement, she waited. His eyes searched hers, darting back and forth as if to ensure that she would obey, before he nodded once and spoke firmly, “You have been in Skyhold for a week-“ A week wasn’t so bad, all things considered, “-and have been out for four.”

A brick hitting her upside the head would have made less of an impact than that statement. Throwing aside the covers, she struggled to look down at her body even as Solas was trying to reassure her. She was dressed only in a small shift, no breastband or smalls at all. Legs that were once powerful and well-muscled from hiking up and down mountains, were now thin and frail looking. The shift was draped loosely over her, but where it pressed against her chest and skin, she could see it dip and fall over bones that were too obvious. When her hand went to run through her hair in surprise, she was shocked again to find that her nearly mid-back hair stopped far too soon- shorn only a few inches from her skull.

Through all of this, Solas had finally stopped, and now offered an explanation as he could, “We had to cut your hair, to make caring for you easier. There was an outbreak of lice when we returned to Skyhold, and we didn’t want to risk adding that to your bodies burden.”

There was a new scar running up her left leg along the shin, and the bone didn’t look quite right- it seemed to bow to the side just a little. Her right foot had shiny new skin over the top, as from a healed burn, and when her eyes looked to her hands, she saw that the nail beds were exposed on more than a few- as if the nails had been ripped right out. “What… I don’t…”

His fingers brushed her arm, holding one of her hands lightly in his, “I wasn’t sure how much you’d remember.”

“The behemoth. I remember killing him.”

“Nothing else?”

“…No.”

A sigh, and he stood up a little so he could sit beside her on the bed instead of in the chair, “Reinforcements came for the Templars, though not enough to warrant a retreat. Our small army was split in two by a wedge formation, and as you tried to go around to flank them in return, your group stumbled onto a Rift.” Whispers echoed around her and for a moment, she could hear her own voice shouting to fall back. “You held off the demons long enough for everyone else to get to safety, but the Templars had turned to _you_. They trapped you between demons and their twisted soldiers. By the time we managed to drive them off… I… We were not sure you were even alive.” Wren had never heard him speak so bluntly, or without that poetic quality. It was disconcerting, but helped her feel a little more centered again.

“Was… everyone else?”

A wave of his hand and a brief shake of his head helped her relax before his words did, “Do not worry, vhenan. You were the worst of our casualties.”

Though she nodded her head and felt relief that her ridiculous hero complex actually saved their soldiers, her heart sank as her eyes drifted back to her legs. Four weeks. She had been out of commission for a month. A thought struck her, and her eyes turned to the balcony, “It’s summer.”

Solas tipped his head, “Yes, though only just.”

Something in her twisted, “I missed most of spring…” Eyes back on her legs, she felt the sting of self-pity, “Solas… Adamant…” He shifted uncomfortably next to her. Brown pulled down, she turned to glare at him, “Solas.”

“They are leaving later today.”

And she was just supposed to stay here in bed? No. Snarling to herself she through her legs over the edge of the bed, twisting her hand out of his grasp. She would not lie here while their soldiers died for the cause!

“Vhenan! You must give your body a chance to recover!” He scrambled off the bed after her, his hand bracing her elbow as she stumbled on unsteady legs.

Not stupid enough to push him away, she moved forward none the less, leaning heavily on him until she got around the bed and over to her dresser, “I can recover on the road. With a full army, it will be what? Two weeks march? Three?”

“Dam’alha! Your stubbornness will only make it worse!”

Finally reaching her goal, she shook off his hand in favor of leaning on the dresser while she pulled open the drawers, “And staying in bed will not help the Inquisition! If you are so concerned, come with me.”

Solas stopped muttering curses to himself and looked up at her sharply, “I would not have stayed behind while you run headlong into war.” His voice had a razor edge to it, but an undertone of hurt.

Sighing, she glanced at him, taking in his shaking shoulders and clenched jaw. Afraid. He was afraid for her. Lifting her hand, she cupped his cheek and shook her head, “I am sorry, Ma’lath. I did not mean to imply that you would. Please, understand that I cannot simply wait here, idle, while they go into battle.”

His hand covered hers, and his lips brushed her palm, “I know. You are much like I was- brash and headstrong, ready to take on whatever the world offered.” Stepping up to her, he plucked the shirt from her fingers and smiled sadly, “Perhaps, if I cannot dissuade you from going, you will allow me to set the pace for you?”

Smiling widely at him, she laughed a little, “Do I have a choice?”

“No, Vhenan.”

Sighing, she held out her arm as if to say, ‘Do what you will.’ He chuckled and shook his head, setting the shirt aside and reaching for her slip. His fingers brushed the top of her thighs as he made to pull it over her head, and the sensation, despite everything that was going on, made her gasp. Immediately, he stopped and his eyes sought hers to see if she was hurt, but the blush that spread like wildfire across her cheeks made him blink, and grin ferally. Fingers back where they were, he trailed them up her skin, watching her bite her lip in an attempt to hold back the breathy sighs that wanted to escape with his touch. Slowly, those fingers traced up her legs and to her hips, hands sliding under the cloth to grip them, thumbs tracing circles across the hollows.

“Solas…” she whimpered, eyes fluttering closed.

A dark chuckle, then breath puffing across her lips, “Should I stop, Ma’haurasha?”

“No. Yes-maybe? I’m not…” her mind struggled past the sensation of his hands pressed against her hips. She wanted him to keep going, but the image of her withered legs kept pushing through. Her body was-

“You are beautiful, Vhenan. Before. Now. In the future.” Words melted into her and made her open her eyes and search his. Truth, love, and desire for _her_ , all there for her to read- no masks, no omissions, no evasion. Just raw emotion.

Whatever might have happened was brought to a screeching halt when a soft knock echoed from the bottom of the stairs. Unlike previous interruptions, Solas did not move away from her, but he did place his hand more appropriately on her elbow and picked up the shirt again. When the door opened, a familiar voice called up from the bottom, “Cole says she is awake?”

Solas responded before Wren could, calling just loudly enough to be heard, “She is.”

Wren quirked an eyebrow at him, confused at the cordial tone the two men were using. Solas just gave her his ghost of a smile, before lifting the shirt to ask if she wanted to meet their guest half way. Nodding cautiously, she let him lead her to the center of the room just as Dinall rounded the banister.

The taller mage paused, glancing at Solas briefly before closing the distance between them. The elf handed off his charge, stepping back once he was sure that Dinall was supporting her completely, then moving towards the desk in the corner to give them, at least the illusion of, privacy.

“Sidas. You were not supposed to be up yet.” Dinall’s voice was full of worry, and she had to restrain the eyeroll that threatened.

“So I’ve been told. Honestly, I’m fine. I don’t want to sleep any more than I have- I think a month is enough, don’t you?” Hoping that some playful jabs would get him to relax, she offered him a smile and a squeeze of his hands.

Tears were not the expected response, though she supposed the bear hug- gentle, of course- should have been. He sobbed into her shoulder, slipping into his preferred tongue, “ _My Star. We thought you were lost to us.”_

Wren shushed him softly, running her hands up and down his back, “ _Hush, Brother. I live. I breathe. I will heal.”_

Only when his shoulders stopped shaking and his murmurs of relief and fear subsided did he stand, sniffing and running a hand across his cheeks, “I’m sorry for the display, Sidas. You had us so worried.”

From the desk, Solas spoke up, “It appears that she is determined to keep us worried.”

Wren shot him a glare to silence him, but Dinall had already turned, “What do you mean?”

“She intends to go to Adamant.”

Snapping back to her, he gripped her shoulders tightly and gave her a shake, “No! You almost died! You need time to recover, to _heal_!”

Snarling at the elf, she wobbled unsteadily and plucked ineffectively at the hands holding her, “Dinall, I will heal on the way. I cannot let the Inquisition forces go there without me! What if the Anchor is needed?”

“Then they can send for you!”

“It will take them weeks to get there, and it would take me almost as long to reach them! That could mean defeat and Corypheus’ demon army could overrun half of Thedas by the time I can do anything!”

Whirling, though still supporting her with one hand, Dinall snarled at the elf, “You cannot mean to let her go?!”

Solas shrugged lightly and lifted a hand towards Wren, “Beyond the fact that neither of us could stop her if she was truly determined, as she appears to be, she makes valid points.”

Wren placed her hands on his chest, pushing a little to get him to look at her again, “This is more than a little fight. The army that is amassing there is what allowed him to overrun Inquisition forces in the future. I cannot allow that to happen. We cannot afford for me to stay.”

With a scowl worthy of a Circle elder, Dinall studied her face, before saying sharply, “Then I am going with you.”

“No. You are not-“

“No Sidas! I will not have an argument on this. The last time I let you run headlong into a trap, you were torn away from our time and nearly trapped. I _will not_ leave your side for this.”

She looked to Solas for support, but his face was set in a similar, though less harsh, frown, “I agree. It will help to have an accomplished healer with you for the journey, and we will need as many as we can get for the army, if the reports are accurate.”

Knowing that she was outnumbered on this, she deflated, grinding her teeth in frustration. When had the two of them started agreeing on things?

*

If Wren thought that Solas and Dinall’s reactions were harsh, she was not prepared to be bodily lifted off her Hart by a raging Commander. “Cullen! Put me down!”

The ex-Templar barely reacted to her fists beating his shoulders, “Not until you regain some rational perspective, Inquisitor.”

“Rational perspective?! You all are the ones being irrational! PUT. ME. DOWN.”

“No.”

“Aaarrgh!” She went limp, letting her arms and legs flop uselessly down as he stormed into the stables. Setting her down on one of the benches, carefully but with authority, he stood before her with crossed arms and the same over protective scowl that the other two men had worn. Feeling more than a bit petulant, she resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him. Barely. “I cannot stay behind! You may have need of my mark and to delay my arrival would-“

“Oh, I’m not saying you have to stay here.”

That stopped her. Why had he taken her in here then? The words didn’t come out, but the confusion on her face was enough to prompt a response anyways.

“No matter my personal view on the matter, as the Commander of the Inquisition forces, I am well aware that your presence may be necessary. However, I will _not_ let you gallivant around on that creature while you are supposed to be healing.”

Rolling her eyes, she leaned back against the wall and crossed her arms, mirroring his own pose. “Then how, exactly, am I supposed to accompany the army to Adamant?”

“By carriage.”

Jaw dropping, she sputtered for a moment, before shaking her head, “No. Absolutely not! I’m not an invalid-“

“You are.”

“-to be carted around while our soldiers walk! I won’t be dragged about the countryside in a Maker-damned carriage-“

“You will.”

“-like some old bitty who can’t stand!”

“You can’t.”

Just to prove him wrong she bolted to her feet- only to find that the world spun and she was saved a humiliating collapse by his arms wrapping around her. He had been prepared for her act of defiance, and the sympathetic, but stern look on his face made her grind her teeth even more. Damn him for this!

“Inquisitor. My Lady. You are very weak-“

“I do not need to be reminded.”

“-and riding takes a lot of energy, especially for the amount of we will be on the road. A carriage allows you to rest. Truly rest. The men will understand. They will already be in awe of you- coming when you are so soon off your death bed.”

“I was not on my death bed!”

“Wren.”

Cullen almost never used her name, and hearing it made her stop fighting. Worry creased his brow, and she could see by the dark circles under his eyes that he hadn’t been sleeping well. That he was willing to let her go at all was a testament to his ability to put the Inquisition’s needs above his own desires, and she reminded herself that this was the only compromise that would meet both his protective nature, and his ability to do his job.

While Dinall and Solas packed for her (insisting that she stay in bed as long as possible), they explained some of what had transpired after her last battle. Too weak to move, Solas and the Inquisition soldiers had taken her only as far as the main outpost of Emprise, taking over the most intact building in the broken little town. Every person with any healing or medical knowledge was brought in for those first few days while they struggled to keep her alive. Only once she was just off of death’s door did they move her to a tiny hamlet just on the western side of the Frostbacks.

It had only taken a week before Commander Cullen himself had arrived with the best physicians the Inquisition had. The man had stayed by her side as much as Solas and Dinall, doing his work from a desk to the side of her sickbed, and refusing to return to Skyhold until she was well enough to make the journey home.

Now, looking at him standing before her, she could recognize the strain it had put on him. He was overjoyed that she was awake and standing, so to speak, but the fear of nearly losing her. With a soft sigh, she brushed her hand across his cheek, sliding her fingers along the back of his neck. “Alright, Cullen.”

His eyes fluttered closed for a moment in relief, before he searched her face for reassurance, “You’ll stay in the carriage?”

She gave him a little smirk, “As long as I can come out when we make camp, yes, I’ll stay in the carriage.”

“Until Solas and I deem you well enough?”

“Yes, Commander.”

His arms slipped around her waist a little tighter, pulling her up against him, “I am not asking this as the Commander.”

The smirk softened to a gentle smile, “Yes, Cullen. I will stay until you tell me I’m fit for duty.”

One hand slid up to tuck an errant strand of hair behind her ear, “Thank you, my lady.” Hesitating only a moment, he dipped down to brush his lips across hers, a ghost of a kiss, before resting his head against her, “I could not stand to lose you again.”

Lips tingling and heart fluttering, Wren laughed breathily, “You did not lose me, Cullen. I am still here, aren’t I?”

A soft sigh puffed air across her face, his eyes closed and arms holding her tightly to him, “I almost did. I should have gone to you myself when your call for aid came…”

Pulling back from him a little, she tipped his chin up with a finger, “No. You are not to blame for what happened. I was reckless, and should have retreated when I realized we were so heavily outclassed.”

Cullen gave her his lopsided smile, standing up straight and stepping back again- though he kept one arm around her for support, “And you wonder why we are all afraid to let you go to Adamant.”

Huffing playfully, she let him lead her back out to the gate, where the sound of a carriage coming up the bridge told her they were ready to go again, “I doubt I’ll be able to get into much trouble there, with all of you hovering around me like this.” Solas and Dinall were mounted already, both watching her return with the Commander. By the satisfied looks on their faces, she realized they had been in on the carriage idea, but likely hadn’t wanted to be the ones to enforce it.

The Commander laughed softly, opening the carriage door for her and helping her get inside, “I do not doubt that you will find some way to put the fear of the Maker into us.”

Expecting him to close the door once she was settled, Wren was pleasantly surprised when he climbed in after her and sat down. “You are riding with me?”

A wave towards the door showed, through the window, that Dinall was riding beside the carriage as it lurched back down the bridge, “We all agreed to keep watch on you in rounds.”

Pouting, she crossed her arms, “I’m not an errant child, Commander.”

He smirked at her, much to her ire, “Most of the time. However, this is more about your health.” His expression turned serious, “You might feel well enough right now, but you were out four weeks. What little energy reserve your body has stored, you are using right now. We don’t want to see you go into remission.”

Nothing like a little guilt to bring her back to the ground. Wren ducked her head and curled in on herself, feeling scolded, “I… I hadn’t thought of that.”

The rustle of fabric and a shift in the cushion beside her, then his hand brushing her shoulder, “You have never been injured that badly before.” Her head turned a little to look at him, a small smile gracing his features to take the sting out of his earlier words. “Come now. Surely having me here isn’t all bad?”

A huff of a laugh, then a soft sigh before she scooted over to lean against him, his arm curling around her and tucking her gently against his side, “I suppose it could have its benefits. You could teach me tactics.”

His chest rumbled against her with a low laugh, “I suppose I should have brought the chess set.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this chapter is sort of sudden and misses out on a lot, but it is from her perspective, so there is a lot she actually missed out on. When I get to this in "Rise" and "If Only, If Only", I think it will have a lot more impact from their perspective and be a lot more emotional. I'm trying not to cross over that line too much, and really stick to just what Wren would see, think, hear, and feel- which means that sometimes she ignores things or just doesn't know about them.  
> Anyways, enjoy the second update in 24 hours! I expect the updates will come a little more slowly after this, but we'll see. Just in case I don't post before then, Happy 4th of July to all the US readers out there! Be safe!
> 
> Translations:
> 
> Dam’alha- Druffalo. Used to indicate someone who is being stubborn, similar to ‘bull headed’.  
> Vhenan- heart/My heart, a serious term of endearment


	23. Marching of a Great Host

“Inquisitor.”

Wren grumbled sleepily, nuzzling into the warmth of her pillow and ignoring the soft voice.

“Inquisitor. It’s time to get up.”

Growling softly, she pulled the blanket over her head, muttering half-formed words, hoping that whoever was bothering her would get the hint and go away.

A different voice this time, a little further away, spoke softly, “Perhaps you should simply carry her. Rest is important at this stage of healing.”

A sigh from the first person, then her pillow moved and she felt arms slide under her, pulling her up against a hard surface. Frowning, she cracked an eye and glared blearily from under the blanket. Fur? A cloak. This wasn’t her bed. Opening the other, she examined the chest that she was apparently being held against, noting the broad shoulders, the golden stubble on the chin, and- oh. “Cullen?”

The Commander smiled down at her, carefully sliding out of the carriage, “Good evening, my Lady.”

Oh. Right. Her mind caught up to everything, and she found her cheeks heating in a slow blush, “You don’t have to carry me.”

A gentle laugh rumbled through his chest, “You would not wake up.”

“I _can_ walk.”

A third voice, the smirk evident in the tone, piped up from just behind her, “Come now! You wouldn’t deny our Commander the chance to cart you around like a treasured doll, would you?”

Wren craned her head a little to look over Cullen’s shoulder, glaring playfully at Dorian, “Not when the whole of the Inquisition can see it.”

Solas appeared beside the Tevinter, his face unreadable, “The soldiers only see that you insisted on being at their side for the coming battle, Da’ean’ma, despite your grievous wounds.”

Hiding her head in Cullen’s shoulder, she groaned, “Oh great. Yet another thing they are sure to worship me for.”

The commander spoke, shifting his arms to hold her more securely now that she was squirming a little, “Some might worship you, but most of these men and women have nothing but respect for you. While we might object to you being out of Skyhold so soon, they see it as a sign of favor from the Maker that you healed enough, and in time, to join them. They are grateful that you do not send them into battle alone, directing the action from a place of safety.”

Huffing from the safety of her hiding place, she grumped at him, “I would much prefer if their Maker hadn’t let me be injured in the first place. Then I could have ridden beside them instead of being carted around like an old bitty.”

She could swear she heard Solas choke on a suppressed laugh, and Dorian definitely laughed. Cullen only sighed, and ran his thumb across her ribs as he spoke, “I don’t think the Maker is to blame for your injuries, my Lady, but I at least am grateful that you are healing.”

The sincerity of his tone made her pause in her grumbling, and she looked up at him again. Eyes facing forward, lips tugging down into a frown, brow creased with the memory of worry and fear. Wren wanted nothing more than to erase that expression. Her hand slid out from under the cloak, fingers brushing across his chin and up to his cheek, cupping it a moment until he looked down at her. “Thank you, Cullen.”

Before he could ask the question that was obviously forming, Dorian began grousing from behind them, “So _she_ gets a full tent to herself, while the rest of us _peasants_ are relegated to the field tents again? How is that fair?”

Solas voice came from beside her this time, “I am sure Dinall would leave your tent, if you are so determined for the privacy our Inquisitor has earned.”

Dorian sputtered and Wren perked up, her head snapping to the Tevinter behind her, “Dinall is sharing your tent?”

The mage huffed and tugged at his tunic with indignation, “I don’t know what that hobo apostate is talking about, but if this is the kind of treatment I’m going to get here tonight, then I shall bid you a good evening now, Inquisitor.” Stomping off like a petulant child, Wren watched with a growing smile as the man in question intercepted Dorian on his way through camp.

Cullen ducked through the entrance of the tent, shifting her carefully to put her down on her feet. Scrambling to keep the cloak about her, she wobbled uncertainly for a moment before finding her footing. Unlike Dorian’s claim, Wren’s tent was occupied by two cots, not just one, as well as a large trunk and a small basin of steaming water. Tipping her head, she raised a curious eyebrow at the ex-Templar, who smiled and indicated Solas with a lifted hand, “Your healer is to stay close by for these next few nights, particularly since you have bandages that still need to be changed and tended.”

Wren’s eyes flicked over to the elf, still full of questions. He gave a slight bow of his head, “When we are satisfied that you have healed enough, you may return to your own tent.”

Smirking, she shuffled over to the nearest cot and sat down, “And if I refuse to downgrade?”

Cullen laughed, “Then you may find you have to share this with the rest of your merry band. I fear they would revolt otherwise.”

Without thinking, her mouth voiced the question that came to her sleepy mind, “Where are _you_ sleeping, Commander?”

“Ah.” Shuffling a little, he rubbed the back of his neck nervously, “I have a field tent set up just down the way.”

Solas cut in, the corner of his lip pulling up just slightly, “What the Commander is meaning to say, is that he does not plan to sleep.”

Wren turned back to the warrior, a deep frown marring her features, “Cullen! You cannot tell me to stay rested while depriving yourself of the same!”

“Inquisitor, I have an army to run and a battle to plan for-“

“And you cannot do so if you are not well rested!”

He gaped at her a little, and she upped the frown a few degrees to ensure that he understood how serious she was. Finally, with a put-upon sigh and the hint of a smile, he shook his head and bowed, “As you wish, my Lady.”

Feeling a little more accomplished, Wren stood carefully brushed a kiss across his cheek, “Thank you, Cullen. The Inquisition needs its Commander to be in top shape, but I also want you to take care of yourself for your own sake.” Satisfied with the blush creeping up his neck, she sat back down before her legs could collapse from under her.

At a loss for only a moment, Cullen gave her his little half smile before bowing to her, “As you wish, my Lady. Goodnight. I will see you in the morning.”

“Goodnight, Commander.”

The warrior turned to Solas, and gave him a slightly stiffer bow, “Goodnight, Solas. If you need my assistance, you know where to find me.”

Solas returned it with a nod of his head, “Of course, Commander.”

Wren watched the man leave, closing the tent flaps behind him. She could just see two guards fall in before the entrance, weapons ready and armor shined, before the world outside was cut off by the heavy canvas.

“Come, Da’ean’ma, we need to have your bandages changed.” Feeling a bit nervous, she slid the leather armor off her shoulders while Solas was turned away, pulling herbs and clean wrappings out. Boots came next, but then she paused, feeling unsure of herself. When Solas turned, she was playing with the hem of her linen shirt, chewing her lip nervously. He tipped his head to the side, watching her curiously, “Is there something the matter?”

Mouth opening and closing a few times with false starts, she tried to hide it behind some semblance of confidence, “I can take care of them Solas. Why don’t you get something to eat?”

Not to be put off so easily, he set the supplies beside her on the cot, “The bandage on your thigh and ribs, perhaps, but you cannot reach the one on your back. Besides, I need to look them over and ensure they are healing properly.”

She cast about for something else to say, but couldn’t think of anything. Fingers found her chin and tipped it up to look at him, “What is the matter, vhenan?” A blush creeped up her cheeks and ears, and realization washed over his features, “Ah. I helped tend your wounds and bathed you while you were unconscious. This is not the first time I will have seen you.”

Pulling her chin from his hand, she frowned and glowered at him from under her eyelashes, “One, that’s not something a woman wants to hear- that you saw her at her worst. Two, it’s different now. I’m… I’m awake.”

His fingers brushed up her jaw and ran through her hair, “I cannot say I understand the difference, but if it would make you feel more comfortable, I can send for Dinall.”

Feeling a little ridiculous for her embarrassment, she jumped on the opportunity anyways, “Would you, Solas?”

He laughed softly, his face softening, “Of course, vhenan. I will get us something to eat as well.”

Sighing in relief as the elf left, Wren turned her attention to the pile of supplies beside her, sorting through them to see what they were using. Elfroot potion, of course, though it smelled watered down, spindleweed, she assumed for a cleanser, a thick paste that smelled of Elfroot and moss, though she couldn’t otherwise identify it, and the linen bandages.

The tent flap opened and her Circle brother walked in, smiling at her playfully, “I was told that you have become shy, Sidas?”

Huffing dramatically, she stood carefully and stripped off her shirt and breeches, “Not around _you_ , Fratrem.” She threw the clothes at him for good measure, before picking at the cloth wrapped around her chest that acted both as a breastband and as a hold for the bandage on her back.

“I would hope not!” He laughed good naturedly, setting her clothes outside of the tent to be washed and turning back to help her unwrap.

They spent the next half hour talking amiably and cleaning her wounds. The stitching on her thigh was holding well, and could probably be removed the next day. Her back was slow to heal, and despite his pleasantly distracting conversation, she could hear the strain in her brother’s voice as he examined and cleaned it. The bandages that he tossed onto the floor were thick with blood and pus- infection then.

“Dinall?” Wren asked tentatively.

“Mm?” She could visualize him working on her back, tongue poking out between his teeth, brow dropped down in concentration as he cleaned it.

“What happened?”

“To what, Sidas?”

Craning her head over her shoulder, she tried to catch his eye, “You know what I’m asking about, brother.”

His fingers paused, and he sighed, glancing up at her for a moment before returning to his work. “You must understand, I did not get there until a bit later.” Though he stopped, she simply waited, knowing he would continue eventually. The spindleweed burned, even through the pain numbing spell he’d cast, making her flinch and him mutter an apology before speaking again, “By the time I arrived, the infection had already set in. It was slowing the Elfroot’s ability to heal you, and burning through your bodies reserves like a wildfire. I think, though Solas disagrees, that if they had prevented the infection, you would have healed much faster and been on your feet in a week or two- or at least conscious.” Linen pressed against the wound, and he helped her re-wrap the band carefully- tight enough to hold everything in place, but not so tight that it would compress a wound that needed air. “You should leave it open tomorrow. I think the sweat is making it worse.”

Rolling her shoulders a little to relieve the pull of what little new skin was forming, she nodded and pulled on a new shirt- lighter weight than the one from earlier. “I will try. I’m sure a bath will be needed in a few days as well.” Her eyes lingered on the basin of hot water, some of which they had already been ladling out to clean the wounds, “More than with a cloth, that is.”

With a deft hand, he guided her to sit down again, moving on to the next bandage, “I am sure the Commander and a certain elf would agree with you, though perhaps for different reasons.”

“Dinall!” She bopped his shoulder while he laughed at her, both of them settling into pleasant gossip again. It was easier to ignore the extent of her injuries, and the worry that was so deeply settled on everyone’s face when they looked at her, when she could speak with her Circle brother as if it was old times. The noise of the camp around them was done with a soldier’s silence, making it not much louder than the camps the runaway mages would set up together. The only thing that was missing was music.

When Solas returned later with food for three, Wren was cleanly bandaged, washed, and dressed in light sleeping attire. The three of them ate companionably, and when Dinall left for the night, Wren found that her nervousness from earlier was gone. Solas had been nothing but a gentleman the whole night, and she did not need to fear him trying anything when she was injured. That gave her time to sort her brain out a little more, and maybe be more comfortable with the idea of his eyes seeing all of her in the future.

*

Sitting upside down in a rumbling carriage was not exactly comfortable, but boredom will make you try strange things. Six days into their trip, and Wren was about to pull her hair out (not that it was really long enough to get a grip on anymore). While those first few days had been spent mostly sleeping and in the company of various amusing friends, today was different. The morning had started out with a particularly nasty argument with a certain ex-Templar, leading to Solas and Dinall _both_ warding her carriage shut while the soldiers marched on. Lunch had been handed to her through the carriage window by a solemn looking Blackwall, and she had only been allowed out to stretch and relive her bodily needs under the strict guard of Cassandra. There was only one book that had been left in her ‘prison’, and it was a very dry history on the Marches. Despite struggling through a large portion of it, she still couldn’t fall asleep or find any relief from the long dreary ride.

From her odd position, she could see that someone had carved some rather explicit stick figures into the underside of the seats. Whoever it was had a vivid imagination, but no real idea of how the human body could actually bend. Giggling at it entertained her for a few minutes, and she even used a little spark of fire at her fingertip to add some details and a bit of a narrative, but even that childish amusement did not last for long, and once again, she found boredom creeping in like a damned demon. Was this actually how Sloth possessed people? Utter boredom until they forget about anything else? Maybe she could use that on Cassandra! A little guilt trip to get them to let her out? Seriously, did they think she was going to go traipsing back there after a nearly full day’s ride? Alright, maybe she would have a few hours ago, but now, she just wanted to get out of this ridiculous thing!

As if in answer to her prayers, the carriage creaked to a stop, and she felt the wards dissipate from the door. Not waiting to be released, she scrambled gracelessly to her feet and sprang out into the open, immediately going into a full body stretch- arms reaching high above her, feet rising until she was on her toes. The gratifying pops that came from her back made her groan in pleasure and go almost bonelessly limp.

A soft curse startled her and she turned to see Cullen blushing furiously, “I-Inquisitor. We are stopping early tonight so that we can resupply at a nearby town. If you wish to accompany us, I would, ah, recommend changing into something more appropriate.”

Dorian meandered over, grinning at Wren, “What the illustrious Commander _means_ to say is that if you are going to stretch like that, wear a longer shirt.” The man in question sputtered and huffed, but the two mages just laughed and Dorian offered her a change of clothes, Wren noting that they were along the ‘appropriate’ lines that the Commander had mentioned- a little formal, well made, with hints of armor to their form.

Scrambling back into the carriage, she stripped off her dusty clothes to don the new ones, speaking loudly enough to be heard outside, “And who is the ‘us’ that is going into town, Commander?”

She heard him shuffle closer and could just see the side of him from the window as he gamely kept his eyes elsewhere, “Myself, Cassandra, Dorian, and Vivienne, as well as a number of soldiers.”

“Of course.” Wren managed to just barely keep the eyeroll she made out of her voice. The Inquisition could not be seen traipsing into town without a column of soldiers after all. “And what are we resupplying? I thought the soldiers we were meeting from Orlais tomorrow were going to bring additional supplies.”

“They are, but there are a few things that the others wished to add that were not on the original requisition forms.”

Finally decent, she slid out of the hot-box again and brushed herself off, grinning up at Cullen, “Oh! Like some apples? Or anything fresh really.”

He chuckled, his fingers brushing a few flyaway hairs out of her face, “I’m sure they could be convinced to add those to the list.” That hand stiffened though, gripping her chin as his face became serious, “I need your promise, first, that you will not go back to that Maker-forsaken place.”

The light, giddy feeling that had been fluttering in her chest a moment ago turned into a hot clawing. Pulling out of his grasp, she glowered at him, “I don’t need to make any such ridiculous promise.”

Trying to step close to her as she stepped back, the Commander growled, “You do, and you will, or I’m having you put back in that carriage!”

“I’m not some child or _prisoner_ to be locked up! I’m an adult, damnit!”

“Then act like one!”

Why did they always do this? One moment they were smiling and happy, the next they were at each other’s throats. They were just starting to get over the whole mage/Templar thing, and now he was being over protective and treating her like some kind of unruly urchin that needed to be reined in. Shaking her head, she backed away from him again, disgust plastered across her face, “If you can’t trust me not to go running off to a Rift that is a full day’s ride behind us, then I won’t bother to give you any kind of promise.”

Turning on her heel, she marched off to find those of her friends who were staying behind. Once the mother hen was out of the camp, maybe she could convince them to go with her hunting. She needed to get out of camp and do something constructive. Hunting was easy enough and didn’t run any real risks. Sera was the first one she spotted, and with a feral grin, she made her way over to the one person she knew was always up for a bit of rebellion.

*

Solas found the two troublemakers an hour later, pulling burs out of their legs and hair, laughing good naturedly as a deer drained from a nearby tree. The disapproving frown on his face only made their amusement turn form each other to him, and it wasn’t until he turned to leave that Wren jumped up and called out for him, “Solas! Come back. We can’t carry this thing back into camp by ourselves.”

“Ya!” Sera called from her log, “Miss Inquisy-britches here might throw a stitch! Then who are you gonna go all elvhen glory on?”

Wren watched his shoulder’s tense even as she stifled a giggle and a deep blush at the rogue’s crass comments. Never the less, he turned back to them with a passive mask and a hint of disapproval still hanging about him, “If you had thought about that earlier, I could have accompanied you.” His eyes drifted to the carcass, “It seems you managed to get it this far.”

Sera stood, brushing off the dirt that still clung to her clothes, “Pfft. Ya, but we almost _died_ getting it here!”

Solas eyes snapped to Wren and the younger mage barked at Sera in turn, “Sera! We did not. You’ll give him a heart attack.” Pleadingly, she offered a small smile to him, “We really didn’t. I just didn’t have the strength to go any further.”

“Hehe, heart attack. He _is_ old. Surprised he don’t keel over every time he-“

“SERA!” Wren shouted, face going dark red.

“Wot?!”

By the time the three of them trudged back into camp, Wren was shaking from exhaustion and suppressed laughter. While she felt bad that Sera was continuously picking on Solas, she couldn’t help but laugh at the quips and Solas’ reaction to them. Soldiers quickly relieved them of their burden, eager to have some fresh meat, and a stew was started to ensure that as many people could eat off of it as possible. At some point, the party going into town must have returned, because fresh vegetables were added to the giant stew pots and summer fruits were being distributed. Wren smiled as she watched the soldiers go from quiet and nervous, to relaxed and jovial. They all knew that a fierce battle was waiting for them at the end of this road, but a night to let that go for a little bit and just relax would go a long way to raising moral. She made a mental note to ensure that over the next few weeks of travel, at least one day like this was planned.

After the meal had been finished and everyone was winding down, Wren found her way to the large field tent she still shared with Solas and whatever injured men were under Dinall’s care. There, beside her pack and the supplies to change her bandages, was a small pile of apples, and a rolled bit of parchment. As she read it, the last bit of stress fled her and she couldn’t help but sigh. What kind of complicated _thing_ was she getting herself into?

                _Wren,_

_I hope that these help make up for my behavior earlier. I find myself, once again, begging for your forgiveness. As Cassandra has so kindly reminded me, you are perfectly capable of doing what needs to be done, and I should trust you to do so._

_We have reports of a Rift on tomorrows road, and I would appreciate your help in dispatching the demons it has spawned as well as closing it._

_Yours,_

_Cullen_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little transition before more interesting things start happening. Expect another chapter before Adamant!


	24. Still Hot from the Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Not Safe For Work!**  
> Don't forget, translations are at the end of the page in the notes! I suggest looking them up as they come along.  
> Oh my....

Wren wiped at her brow, rolling her shoulders to relieve some of the pain. The sun was getting closer to setting, finally, but this blasted desert had no interest in cooling down. If they couldn’t find one of the mythical springs of the Western Approach soon… Last thing she wanted to do was trek back to the Inquisition camp for the night and put up with any more mollycoddling.

The last few weeks had been oddly enjoyable. After closing the rift that Cullen informed her of, her advisors and healers agreed to allow her back into the field of battle- though on limited duty. It felt good to be back in action. Muscles strained and ached and started to fill out again. Between the fighting and the food that was constantly being shoved at her by various members of her merry band of miscreants, she was starting to feel like herself again by the time they reached the Western Approach. So, when scouts reported that a group of Wardens had escaped Adamant and would need to be hunted down, Wren laid claim to the task before Commander Cullen or anyone else could assign some soldiers to it. It would be another day and a half before their war machines were assembled and the army was ready to march on the fortress. There was little she could contribute to the effort without being shooed off or told to go rest.

Varric, The Iron Bull, and of course, Solas, had all immediately volunteered to go with her. It had taken them most of the day, but they managed to catch the strays- though the outcome was less than ideal. Wren hated the idea of killing men and women who were just desperate to stop the Blight, soldiers that could have been great allies in the coming battle. But what choice did they have? They couldn’t have this group call reinforcements, or circle around behind the army.

Now all that was left was to find a decent place to bed down for the night before she collapsed. And water. A bath would be glorious. It was unimaginable how quickly sand could worm its way into absolutely every part of your body.

The canyon they had been following curved, and through the dust they could tell it was leading to another dead end. Wren could hear her companions sigh in frustration, even as her own hopes dropped. Varric shifted Bianca across his shoulders and tried to pull the fabric tighter across his nose, “It’s no use, Inquisitor. We might as well trek back to that cave.”

The Iron Bull gave a snort of indignation, his own face brazenly unprotected from the blowing sand “I’d rather not share my bedroll with spiders.”

Wren ignored them as their banter continued and instead moved forward. The way the air eddied around her nearly bare feet… There was a hint of moisture to it, and something softer- like the still air behind a shadow. Following the turn of the wall, the wind and dust dropped suddenly, leaving her in a blessedly quiet cul-de-sac at the end of the canyon. The wind was just barely blocked in this little pocket, and even better-

“Ah, Da’ean’ma, you have found a little paradise.” Solas’ voice whispered from beside her as he pulled his own mask down from his face. “Should we tell the others? Or perhaps enjoy the water ourselves, first?”

Wren felt her cheeks heat at the suggestion, and warmth pooled in her stomach at the low growl in his voice. During their travel to Adamant, Solas had become more affectionate, more sensual, dropping suggestive hints and hidden comments, leaving her flustered and wanting. It seemed that as her strength returned to her, and her form filled back in to the healthy curves she’d once had, the older mage had begun having trouble keeping his hands to himself. The first time he’d pinned her against a tree, while they had slipped away under the pretense of hunting, she’d felt an electric thrill race up her spine at the predatory look in his eyes. Feeling his hands roam the sweat slicked skin under her tunic made her melt. When his teeth scrapped a long line down her throat, she was ready to throw caution to the wind and drag him to the ground. Scout Jim chose just that moment to come stumbling through the undergrowth with the announcement that they were needed by the advisors to discuss troop movements. Torture wasn’t usually on her list of punishments, but right about then, she wanted nothing more than to string that damn man up. Solas had just laughed throatily, and lead her back to camp with a sinful smirk and gentle hands.

To be alone, away from prying eyes, even if only for a time… Turning on her heel she slung her pack to the ground and followed the curve of the stone back to where Bull and Varric were still bickering. Tugging the fabric back over her nose to protect from the renewed wind, she tried to keep her voice steady, “Look, I don’t want to go back to that cave either, so we are just going to bunker down here as best as we can. Solas and I will ward the camp and set up tents, but I’d really like something more than trail rations for the tenth day in a row.” She put on her best scowl glaring at each of them. “So, _you two_ are going to go hunt for dinner. And firewood, before this heat turns into the freezing desert night. I think there was some burnable stuff back along the trail a ways.” Her lip twitched, and she thanked Andreste for the cover of the dust cloth.

Varric sighed waving his hand and turning away from her, “Alright, alright. No need to get your smalls in a twist. Come on, Tiny.”

Bull starred at her a moment longer, and it took everything in her not to squirm. He suspected something, obviously, but he just shrugged off his pack with the third tent for her before following Varric, “Whatever you say, Boss.”

Waiting until they both were on their way out and didn’t appear to be turning back, Wren returned to the blind, hoping that her steps didn’t seem too hurried. Solas already had one of the tents up and was unrolling the second with a casual wave of his hand. She never got tired of watching him use magic, particularly when the others weren’t around and he felt comfortable enough to use it for more mundane tasks. It was effortless for him, and she envied that. Tossing down the last tent, Wren unrolled it by hand, stepping back and concentrating on the form it should be before using her own magic to pull it up. It wasn’t as beautifully done as when Solas did it, but she was proud that her technique was refining. When she and the rest of the Circle had been on the run, most of them were too untrained to use magic for such day to day tasks. After all, you didn’t need to find water in the Circle, or dry firewood, or any of the other things that would have been useful in a survival situation. It hadn’t even occurred to them to use it to hunt for food until they’d been on their own for a few weeks. Now, it was almost a challenge for her to find something new she could do with it.

As the tent settled and she made the last adjustments to it, she felt the ghost of a touch along her neck and turned to give a soft smile to Solas. His eyes burned and the way he was looking at her left no doubt in her mind what his intentions were, “Come, vhenan, before the others return.” Taking her hand, he slowly led her to the small pool of water in the lee of the cliff, as if afraid that she might bolt at any moment. In fact, she just might. While they had their stolen moments together on the way here, they had never progressed further than heavy petting. And she had never been without most of her clothes, at least while conscious. Her nervousness was nearly tangible, and part of her was incredibly grateful that he had been taking his time, but another, progressively louder part of her, wished he would simply strip her down and take her right there.

Solas paused, releasing her hand but keeping his eyes locked on hers. Carefully, he unhooked the clasps on his robes, and slid them down his arms, letting them pool at his feet. Wren’s eyes roved his chest and stomach hungrily. While not the first time she’d seen him without a shirt or robe, it was always a pleasure and a surprise to see his lithe muscles shifting beneath his pale skin. He still had his leather breeches, but he left those on in favor of reaching for her. As he undid each clasp of her leather armor, she could feel her heart rate raise up little by little. Of their own accord, her fingers slid up his sides, dancing along the skin. She reveled in each little flutter of his chest and breathy gasp that her touch caused, and so distracted was she by it that she didn’t immediately realize when he’d divested her of her top and breastband until she felt them ‘thump’ into a pile behind her. Her eyes darted up to his, worried about what he would think. She hadn’t been around him without a top since waking up after Emprise, and the scars, old and new, that worked their jagged way across her skin made her fear that he would view her as tainted.

Bright eyes, shining with some deep emotion, met hers- he’d never looked away from her face. “You are beautiful.” he murmured to her, his fingers still moving to unlace the rest of her leathers as he leaned forward to capture her mouth with his. Peace was something so rarely felt anymore that Wren barely knew what to do with it. The feel of his lips as they moved across her face and down her neck, teeth scraping gently at the top of her shoulder, had her sighing and whimpering softly. Finally, the last bit of cloth hiding her from him fell to the sand. At some point, he must have done the same for himself because as he started to guide her backwards towards the water, her hands came up to his hips to steady her steps, and were met with bare skin.

His voice whispered a constant stream of elven in her ear as their feet splashed into the spring-fed pool, sweet nothings that she barely understood or barely heard, but their meaning was clear enough. What fear or worry was left in her melted with his words and gentle touches along her back and sides. The elf led them deeper until the water lapped at her chest. With a gentle push he turned her around so that she faced away from him. “Lean back, Da’ean’ma. Let your body float.” There was a moment’s hesitation from her until he whispered in her ear, “Elasa ar manhimem ma. Ar _novena_ manhimem ma. Sathan, vhenan…”

Her stomach did a few flips at the desire in his voice, and even though the words he spoke were mostly innocuous, the intent behind them was so blatantly sexual that it made her toes curl in the mud. How could she say no to a request like that? Wren lifted her feet from the sandy bottom, and Solas guided her head to his shoulder. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she took a deep, relaxing breath to calm her nerves. The intensity of his gaze was such that she squirmed a little and poked his chest with her hand, “That is not bathing, that is staring.”

A dark chuckle rumbled under her head, “Ir abelas. I shall endeavor to remedy that.” True to his word, she felt a cloth brush over her shoulder, and the smell of sage and mint filled the air.

Eyes still closed, she wrinkled her nose at him in confusion, “Where did you get soap?”

“From the pack, of course.”

Now one eye cracked open to look up at him. “I _know_ that you did not have it in your hands a moment ago. And it is not as if you have pockets right now.”

His eyes flicked to hers, then back to his task while his hands worked slowly down her arm. “I _am_ a mage.” He stated, as if that settled matters.

Knowing she wasn’t going to get any other answer from him, she gave him a playful, one-eyed glare, before closing her eyes again. Between the gentle caress of the cloth and the sound of the wind roaring just outside of their little hide-away, she could almost believe that the world would forget them here and leave them in peace.

The cloth worked back up her arm, then slowly across her chest, dragging a trail of soap with it. A contented hum escaped her lips, but quickly turned to a gasp of surprise as the cloth passed over one pert nipple and fingers tweaked it gently. Breath tickled her ear, and she whimpered when teeth nipped at her jaw and neck. A second hand joined the first, following behind, drawing symbols in the clean skin. When both breasts had been laved and teased, eliciting more gasps and soft moans, the cloth moved to her other shoulder and down the other arm, much to her disappointment. She gave a pouty little moue of her lips and a rumbling chuckle came from her living headrest.

As the cloth moved back up her arm, she arched her back a little, begging silently for him to touch her again. Solas cupped one breast, lifting it and washing underneath gently, before letting it sink back into the water to float just at the surface.  The cloth moved down her chest, and into the water, softly scrubbing away the dust from their journey and leaving a fire behind on her skin. Every time she started to relax into his touch, the elf would return to her breasts, brush across the hollow of her hip, or bite and nip her neck and lips. Within a few minutes, she was squirming and panting, whimpering every time he stoked the flames, and groaning every time he stopped. It was delicious torture.

Just as she was thinking that he was only going to tease her tonight, the hand without the cloth dipped lower with no warning, sliding easily between her legs, delving, spreading and touching until she was trembling and moaning loudly. In one swift movement, he tipped her body upright and spun her around to face him, her arms wrapping around his neck and her legs hooking over his hips- his fingers never pulling away from inside of her. Their lips crashed together and her mewl of need was met with a feral snarl. Those long fingers found fires inside of her, pushing and stoking until the flames threatened to consume her.

She could feel other parts of him, hot and hard even in the cool water, trapped between them. Squirming, she tried to shift their position, unable to form the words she needed, only able to convey the desire with pleading whimpers. Solas shook his head, mouthing softly at her neck, “Not yet. Let me take care of you. Let me give _you_ pleasure.” He slid another finger into her, cursing softly as she clamped down around him.

She bit her lip, trying to hold back the throaty moans that were escaping her, until teeth pierced the skin at the juncture of her throat and a tongue lapped at the blood that welled up. The pain and pleasure ripped a quickly muffled scream from her throat, and Solas pulled her tighter against him, growling in her ear, “Do not hide your voice from me, vhenan.” Long fingers curled inside of her, twisting and pushing until she moaned loudly again. A thumb brushed her clit as he spoke, his voice gravely “Samelava, silal telir or se’lah tu rosa’da’din.”

That was all she needed- the tight spiral she’d been riding exploded into a blur of white. She felt her body clench as her head fell back and a strangled cry was ripped from her throat. Those arms stayed clamped around her, keeping her bucking body pressed against him while his fingers bled magic into her core. Still burning brightly, it took her a moment to float down, her forehead falling onto his shoulder as her panting breaths rippled the water. Hands ran gentle circles across her back with the previously discarded cloth and soap, relaxing her muscles until she was once again limp against him. Wren stirred, turning to face his neck and place a small kiss against the heated skin.

Fingers brushed through her damp hair, pulling it away from her face, and Solas’ voice was soft and gentle again, “Sleep, vhenan. I will wake you when dinner is prepared.” She felt him wrap his arms under her thighs and take her out of the water, carrying her back to the first tent. A whisper of magic passed over her skin, drying her off so gently that she barely noticed. Her pack and bedroll were already set up, and he set her down on the later with a feathered kiss across her forehead.

Her eyes tracked his naked form as he stood and exited the tent, and a satisfied smile crossed her lips. Who knew that under his drab robes, he carried the body of a god. If her body wasn’t already deliciously satiated, she probably wouldn’t have let him leave the tent. As it was, sleep seeped into her mind, and she told herself that she’d rest, just until the others returned.

*

“There is SOAP in the water! Don’t just smirk at me, you damn smug elf!”

Wren woke with a bit of a start to the dulcet tones of Varric. Once the topic of conversation sunk in, she felt her face heat with an immediate blush and scrambled to pull her clothes on.

Solas calm voice came through the thin canvas easily, “It is downstream of the main spring, Master Tethras, and thus does not contaminate our drinking water.”

Iron Bull cut in, an obvious amusement heavy in his voice, “You know, if you and Boss wanted some alone time, you could have just said so instead of sending us off so quickly.”

Wren could almost visualize the shrug that Solas gave as he spoke, “She did not simply send you off, but requested necessary supplies while we established camp, giving her a chance to bathe in peace. You are, of course, also welcome to take advantage of the deep spring and bath the irritating sand off of you.”

The other two let their voices drop to grumbles, though Wren could hear that neither of them were _actually_ angry. Still, she stayed in her tent and hoped that when she finally came out, the leering and suggestive comments would be kept to a minimum.

After a few moments, when the smell of cooking meat was starting to make her salivate, the tent flap was pushed aside and one bright eyed elf, a small smirk still lingering on his lips, poked his head in. “Ah, Inquisitor. You are awake.” The smirk turned up a few notches.

Wren suppressed the urge to stick her tongue out at him, settling for a small eye roll instead, “I assume this means they actually caught something edible?”

Solas crouched and slid into the tent, his eyes reflecting a little of the light before the flap closed behind him, “I was hoping you would still be asleep.” His voice was a low growl, just above a whisper.

Heat flooded her face at the implication, and she gave a hesitant smile, “I could feign sleep, if you really want.”

Hands sliding up her shoulders to cup her face, he murmured against her lips, “Alas, our companions have returned and are expecting you.” Their lips met in a rush, hurried and stoking little embers of desire into flames that licked along her skin. Just as quickly, though, he pulled away and was out of the tent before she could really comprehend his disappearance. “If you wish to eat before the Iron Bull finishes it off, I suggest coming out sooner than later.”

Grumbling half-heartedly, Wren squirmed out of the bedroll and picked up her clothes, pleased to see them already cleaned of sand and folded neatly on her pack. The boneless feeling that had helped her sleep was slowly wearing off, and the ache of overused muscles from the days fight and… other activities, started to seep into her body. Stretching slowly, she groaned as her back and shoulders popped, rolling her neck a bit to help relieve some of the tension building there.

Finally emerging, she brushed the sand from her legs and shuffled up to the fire, already cringing while she waited for the first comment from their ‘disgruntled’ companions.

There was a pregnant silence, before Varric grinned and opened his mouth- only to have it covered by Bull’s massive hand (hiding nearly the entirety of the dwarf’s face) and the Qunari cut in, “You still feeling stiff, Boss? We had a tough day.”

Sighing and giving the fighter a grateful smile, she went around the fire to plot down without comment in front of the massive man, dropping her head to her chest with a grateful sigh. It had become a routine in the last few days. Set up camp, get dinner started, have Bull give her a massage while they waited for the food to cook. She’d been cautious the first night he’d offered, but when eve Solas remarked about the healing benefits of a deep tissue massage, she’d acquiesced. Despite the sometimes-lewd comments Bull made about his abilities with his hands, he was always professional when it came to caring for her.

Before he’d even really gotten started, Bull paused and laughed, “Sorry Boss, looks like you’ll only get a partial massage tonight.”

Varric leaned to see what Bull was pointing to, before turning to Solas with a laugh, “Damn, Chuckles, you could have at least healed the poor girl after!”

Eyes wide, Wren’s hand flew up to the side of her neck. Sure enough, there was the distinct indent of teeth, and the memory of what exactly caused it made her flush. Bolting from her seat, she scuttled to the other side of the fire and flopped down with a huff, casting a baleful glare and the two across from her who were laughing too hard to even see it.

Solas caught her eye with a grin, and she got the distinct feeling that he’d left the mark there on purpose, damn him. Dropping her head into her hands with a groan, she could only imagine the hell she’d get from the rest of her party when they all met back up with the bulk of the Inquisition. When she lifted a hand to it again to heal it, however, her fingers tangled with those of the elf- suddenly crouched beside her.

Glancing at him, she felt her stomach flutter at the possessive glint in his eyes, “Leave it, vhenan. Let them see.”

How could she deny that request? Instead, she pounced on him and latched onto the side of his neck, intent on leaving a reciprocal mark. If she had to put up with the teasing that was bound to happen, so would he!

Across the fire, the other two only laughed harder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whhhhaaaattt???? A sudden chapter AND smut? Maker have mercy!
> 
> Alright, my lovely readers, Nanowrimo is starting in just a bit over a week, and I hope to get some writing done, which means- I needed a warm up! This chapter was mostly complete after July, so it just needed to be touched up and finished off. I thought it would be the perfect chapter to get you all warmed up too. ^_-  
> I have a super busy week full of reptile shows coming up, so please don't expect anything until November. If I can, I hope to get another chapter done before then, but we'll see.  
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Hot and steamy Translations, fresh off the press:  
> Elasa ar manhimem ma. Novena manhimem ma. Sathan, vhenan. – Allow me to bathe you. I want to bathe you. Please, my heart.  
> Samelava, silal telir or se’lah tu rosa’da’din. – Sometimes, thinking only of your voice makes me cum.


End file.
